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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686771">Songbird</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanks_google/pseuds/thanks_google'>thanks_google</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Red Right Hand [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bisexual Disaster Tommy Shelby, Brain Damage, Multi, Sad Tommy Shelby, Seizures, Serious Injuries, Suicide Attempt, Touch-Starved Tommy Shelby, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:53:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanks_google/pseuds/thanks_google</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>‘I was betting with the other nurses as to whether you’d have pretty eyes,” a nurse began, messing with his painkillers. “Don’t worry, I won.” She smiled. </p><p>Tommy tried to smile back, which he hadn’t done in some time, before opening his mouth to talk. All that came out was a slur of undecipherable letters and syllables, zero of which made any sense. </p><p>“I’m sorry, sir. Please try not to speak. We think it might be damage to your Broco’s area, which affects your ability to speak properly. I’m sorry, sir. You hit your head when you fell unconscious.” The smile dropped off her face, and she broke eye contact with the soldier in front of her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Grace Burgess/Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby/Freddie Thorne, Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Red Right Hand [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/17210222">Speechless</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nukyster/pseuds/Nukyster">Nukyster</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy sat at the cross of the tunnel for so long he wasn’t sure his legs would work when he left it. </p><p>Tommy spent so long under the ground of France, away from all daylight and clean air that he wasn’t sure he would see when they came back out. </p><p>Tommy’s skin was coated in a thick layer of mud and dust, covered so thick he thought that maybe it wouldn’t come back off again. </p><p>Thomas refused to move, no matter how much Freddie and Danny tried to convince him. It was okay; he would always have the songbird to listen to when he lost his connection to the land of the living, when he saw Greta in the mud, when she told him to join her in the afterlife. </p><p>Occasionally, Tommy would talk back to her, tell her he was busy, that he was busy fighting, that one day, when he was home, he would come back to her. Or she would come back to him, he thought often. </p><p>When Tommy made these comments, his comrades worried about him more, but Tommy was fine. He was okay. But was he? He’d been down there so long he was forgetting what the other world was like, the top half of the world. </p><p>As long as he could still hear the songbird, he was okay. That’s what he was convinced of. As long as the songbird kept singing, he would be fine, and so would Danny and Freddie. </p><p>So the songbird kept singing, and Tommy kept on kicking clay, until he was interrupted. “Tommy! Fucking gas!” </p><p>Snapping out of whatever trance he had found himself in, Tommy realised that the songbird was no longer singing, now against the floor of the cage, lifeless. “Tommy! Get your fucking mask on!” Tom scrambled for it, but his hands weren’t working in the way he wanted them to, too fatigued to move. “Fuck!” That sounded like… Freddie? “We need to get him out.” Danny? </p><p>Everything blurred into one and he was being pulled from the cross and from the section of the tunnel that the canary once lived. This was its grave, now. This is where it would be. Forever, until it was another mere spectre of the French earth. </p><p>But there was a sudden inability to breathe, and everything was coming and going in waves, as did his consciousness. When he looked up, he was met with two men in gas masks, until their faces blurred into the mud of the tunnel ceiling. </p><p>When next he woke, it was almost light; it wasn’t as dark as it once was. He could still see above him mud, but it was becoming clearer now more than ever. </p><p>“Tom, do you think you can stand up?” Was that Freddie? Or Danny? It almost sounded like Polly, but no matter how much she begged, they were not with her right now; in fact they were miles away from her. He managed a nod, knowing it would be easier for his comrades to get him to some sort of help. They pulled him up onto his feet and, with his head swaying on his chest. </p><p>Tommy tried to breathe but his lungs wouldn’t let him. He was hanging onto consciousness by a bare thread, and when the thread began to snap, he saw himself slip from his comrades’ grasp and tumble to the floor, pain coursing through his entire head as it hit the ground. </p><p>And then there was nothing.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Consciousness came back to Thomas slowly. There was screaming all around. He could smell the blood all around him, intoxicating him with the metallic smell of iron. He could taste blood and vomit in his own mouth. </p><p>The last thing to work was his eyes, which he took his time opening. </p><p>“I was betting with the other nurses as to whether you’d have pretty eyes,” a nurse began, messing with his painkillers. “Don’t worry, I won.” She smiled. </p><p>Tommy tried to smile back, which he hadn’t done in some time, before opening his mouth to talk. All that came out was a slur of undecipherable letters and syllables, zero of which made any sense. </p><p>“I’m sorry, sir. Please try not to speak. We think it might be damage to your Broco’s area, which affects your ability to speak properly. I’m sorry, sir. You hit your head when you fell unconscious.” The smile dropped off her face, and she broke eye contact with the soldier in front of her. </p><p>Tommy noticed the notebook placed neatly on the side table. Grasping the pen in his hand, he began to write. ‘Lucky I know how to write, eh’</p><p>“What’s your name?” She tried to hide a smile. </p><p>‘Thomas Shelby. Do you know where Freddie Thorne and Daniel Owens are?’</p><p>“They left not long ago, Mr Shelby.”</p><p>‘Call me Tommy’. </p><p>“They’re going to send you home, Tommy. I’ll get the doctor; he’ll explain everything.” And then he was alone, despite being surrounded by people all around. It took him a few moments to process what he had just been told. He can’t speak? </p><p>By the time he was beginning to understand what was going on, a doctor was in front of him, trying to get his attention. He stopped staring into the distance, making eye contact with the doctor. </p><p>“Hello, Mr Shelby. When your comrades brought you in, you were unconscious. You had carbon monoxide poisoning, which we have solved but may have some long term side effects such as memory, brain function, behaviour and cognition. It can also have some internal effects to your organs, but it should be okay. There is also a small possibility of seizures. When you fell, you hit your head and damaged the part of your brain called the Broca, which has affected your speech. You can talk, but most people find it easier to write things down or learn sign language, as it will be slurred and difficult to understand. Due to the physical health we will be sending you home. Your brothers are in the next trench up and then you can go straight home. Lucky for you there’s a train. Good luck, Mr Shelby. I’m very sorry, truly.”</p><p>The doctor left, leaving Tommy with the nurse. ‘What’s your name?’</p><p>“Anna. Anna Goldsworth. Why?”</p><p>‘I’ll find you. Where do you live?’</p><p>“Birmingham. Greet.”</p><p>‘Thank you for looking after me. I’ll see you soon, Anna.’</p><p> </p><p>‘So basically I’m fucked’. </p><p>“At least you’re going home. I think Pol and Ada need a woman in the house. I bet you can’t wait to get home to Greta, eh?” Arthur smiled. Thomas tried to force one, but it was almost impossible. </p><p>John pulled him into a hug, and Arthur soon joined. It lasted a few moments, before Tommy motioned that he had to go. There was a tear in Arthur’s eyes, in John’s too. </p><p>‘You boys stay safe. I’ll see you soon.’ Tommy couldn’t bear to walk away from his family knowing he might not see them again, but he’d be going home to his family, to Greta. So, he turned away from his brothers, and towards home. </p><p> </p><p>He took himself home from the train station to Watery Lane. His sister and aunt were still unaware of the situation. </p><p>Tommy knocked on the door to his home, and waited a moment. Everything felt familiar, but so far away. He hadn’t been home in so long, and he’d come back a different man to how he was before. Just as he pondered going to Charlie’s yard, the door opened, and there was a gasp, and he was pulled into a hug. He heard sobbing. There were quick footsteps of heels and suddenly someone else was added to the embrace. </p><p>Eventually, the hug ended and Thomas was ushered into the house, seated at the table. “W- What are you doing home?” Polly asked, a nervous smile across her face. </p><p>Tommy opened his mouth to speak, before remembering. On the train, he’d prepared some notes to give them, which he pulled from his pocket and placed on the table, sliding it closer to them. As they began to read, tears welled in Ada and Polly’s eyes. </p><p>When they finished, Polly placed her hands on Tommy’s, which were trembling. He shoved them off, grabbing the notebook and pen. </p><p>‘Finn?’</p><p>“He’s upstairs.”</p><p>‘Greta?’</p><p>Ada’s smile dropped to a frown, and Polly broke eye contact. They looked at each other, and neither said anything for a while. In the end, it was Ada who spoke up. “Tom, Greta… she’s not well. I sent you a letter. I guess you didn’t get it. They think it’s consumption… tuberculosis. She… she hasn’t got long left.”</p><p>Tommy knocked his chair over, he got up so fast. “Tom-” Polly stopped herself. She knew it was no use. As soon as she had time to think about what to say about it, her nephew was gone. </p><p>Tommy ran no matter how much it hurt him. Since joining tunnelers, he hadn’t run much. His upper body strength was mostly limited to the top half, from his endless digging. He ran through the streets, following the suddenly remembered way to her house. He got there mostly by muscle memory. His hands hit the door hard, and it opened to Mr Jurossi, her father. </p><p>He didn’t have time to argue with him right now, so pushed past and continued running to her bedroom, swinging the door open. His eyes connected with hers. She looked so frail and broken. He was by her side in a second, holding her hand. </p><p>“Why are you back?” Her voice was weak and hoarse, but there was a happiness in it that he was home. “Has the war stopped to watch me die?” She was joking, of course, but it broke Tommy’s heart. </p><p>He signed, because he knew how. Hell, she taught him how. ‘My voice is gone. I’m no longer useful in a war.’ He paused for a moment. ‘What happened?... How long?’</p><p>“It’s the end, Thomas. I’m thinking you came just in time.”</p><p>‘No, you can’t die. You can’t leave me.’ </p><p>“Thomas, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it now.” She stopped talking for a moment, but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to do anything. “Promise me one thing.” Tommy nodded. “Change the world. I always said I would. It’s too late for me. Promise me you’ll change the world.”</p><p>‘Yes, Greta. I promise.’ </p><p>Her eyes slid shut. The little tension she had on his hand slackened. Her chest stopped rising and falling. Slowly, he pulled his hand from hers, and held it to her wrist with two fingers shaking on her veins.</p><p>Nothing. </p><p>She’s gone. </p><p>She’s gone and she’s not coming back. </p><p>She’s gone and she was the only reason he fought to stay alive in the war. </p><p>It took Thomas a long time to leave. But he did. He avoided her father and walked straight out the door. When he finally made his way home, Ada, Pol and Finn were all waiting for him. Forcing the front door open, a small Finn wrapped his arms around Tommy’s body. He didn’t move. </p><p>“How’s she doing?” Ada asked, hopeful but knowing. Tommy shook his head. “Has she gone?” Tommy didn’t reply, which gave Ada and Polly all the answers they needed. His focus was brought down to his youngest brother, who had pulled out of the hug and was now looking at him frozen. Slowly, Thomas leaned down and brought himself into Finn’s eyeline. </p><p>“Poll and Ada told me what happened. You can’t speak at all?” Tommy shook his head. “Can you teach me how to do sign language? Ada said Greta taught you.” Tommy nodded his head, his mind entirely somewhere else. </p><p>“Finn, I’m sure Tom would love to teach you, but I think he’s tired.” Tommy wasn’t tired, but Ada knew somehow that he needed to be alone. Tommy let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, and took himself upstairs without making eye contact or interactions with anyone else as he stood in front of his bedroom window.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy has a seizure; Ada comes to help</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Two</p>
<p>Thomas hadn’t dangled his feet out of the window in a long time, not since he was a child. Before France. He’d never considered jumping. He’d never considered how easy it would be to slide off the end of the window. He could make it look like an accident, like it was never meant to happen. Like he had just sat out for some fresh air and stumbled or tripped. </p>
<p>He didn’t want to think this way. He didn’t want to jump, but he became aware how easy it would make things. </p>
<p>The only thing that made him different to everyone else, the only thing that made him special. His tongue. His gypsie tongue that talked its way out of everything, and its way into business deals before France when he was assisting his brother, Arthur. </p>
<p>‘Arthur’s not here now’, Tommy thought to himself. ‘That embrace could have been the last time I see him’. </p>
<p>The sudden urge overcame him to slide off overcame him, and that scared him infinitely, so, with shaking hands, he climbed back through the window and pushed himself to the corner of the room by the door, planting himself sitting down so his knees were halfway up to his bottom. </p>
<p>His breathing was becoming shallow, and there was mud clogging his lungs. He could distantly hear the songbird chirping, its beautiful song replaying again and again. He acquired the same numbing sensation in his whole body as he had before, that day in the tunnel. His vision was blurring and the last thing he felt was his body fall to the right. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>---------</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ada was having a cup of tea when she heard noises coming from upstairs. She ignored it at first, but worried that her brother had done something; they were writing allsorts in the papers about soldiers. So, she placed her tea down, the knocking continued, and made her way upstairs. As she walked past the different doors, she noticed how the noise was coming from Tommy’s room. </p>
<p>“Tommy, is everything okay?” she asked after knocking the door. “Tom? I’m going to open the door.” She pushed the door open and after sparing a glance around the room, her eyes were drawn to the wall directly next to the door, next to where she was standing, where her brother was laying. </p>
<p>He was spasming, his body muscles tensing and relaxing rhythmically. There was a dribble of saliva forming in the corner of his mouth. She dropped to his side, unknowing of what to do. His eyes were open, but empty. There was nothing, he wasn’t seeing anything. </p>
<p>“Tom? Tommy, can you hear me?” She spoke loud and clearly, but received no reply. “Tom!” She kept calling his name for a few minutes, until his shaking subsided. His soul returned to his eyes, but they looked sad, and tired. “Tommy, can you hear me?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy didn’t respond, but Ada was no longer sure whether it was because he wasn’t yet back with her, or if it was simply his inability to speak. “Tom, you back?” After a moment, Tommy managed a nod, a shallow one, almost unnoticed, but Ada did, looking out for any change. 	</p>
<p>Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but only produced a series of unintelligible words, and he shut his eyes and sighed. His eyes fluttered open and closed, but remained half-lidded and looking into Ada’s. “Are you thirsty? Tired?” Tommy simply nodded his head, and she carefully brought him onto his feet. She assisted him in walking over to his bed, where he sat on the side and she knelt in front of his legs. </p>
<p>Tommy pulled the notebook from his pocket and with shaking fingers, Ada could make out the words, </p>
<p>
  <em>‘I’m sorry. Doctor said it might happen’</em>
</p>
<p>A tear rolled down his sister’s face as she pulled him into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Tommy. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out. I’ll learn sign language. We all will. By the time John and Arthur get back, everything will be okay.”</p>
<p>Pulling from the hug, Tommy continued writing. </p>
<p>
  <em>Thank you, Ada. Sorry you had to see that</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ada stayed with Thomas that night, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, despite his anger at the matter. “I don’t want to walk in on that again,” she said, and Tommy finally gave in. He wondered whether he’d just spent the last of his freedom. </p><p>He didn’t sleep well, waking up often, sweating and out of breath. She tried to comfort him the first couple of times, but he continued to brush her off so she eventually gave in and just continued reading her book. </p><p>Finally, the morning came and Thomas, having been awake for two hours, stood in front of his window and chain smoked cigarettes, as he had been doing for some time now. Ada had been trying to gain his attention, but gave up after a while and left to make the family some tea and breakfast. </p><p>Polly was already there when she came down; she was sitting, Tommy’s note in her hand. She had a few tears built up in her eyes which she refused tolet fall. Ada began to prepare some tea for the three of them. </p><p>“How’s Tommy coping?” Pol asked, eyebrows knitting. </p><p>“He’s not, Pol.”</p><p>“France or Greta?” </p><p>“I don’t know. He’s not like he was.”</p><p>“War changes people, sweetheart. Is he feeling okay? After last night?” </p><p>“Yeah. He was just tired. He said the doctors said it might happen. I can’t get the image out of my head, Pol. His eyes… there wasn’t anything there.”</p><p>“That’s what happens, darling. Your mother had them, sometimes. We just dealt with them as though they were normal.”</p><p>“What do we do about them? I can’t just sit and watch!”</p><p>“What’s the alternative, Ada? We can’t do anything about it, just make sure nothing goes wrong and he doesn’t get hurt. I’m sorry; I know it’s hard, but there’s nothing we can do… Did he sleep okay?” </p><p>“He slept horribly. Up all night. He tried to hide it, but I could see he was struggling.”</p><p>“Ada, it’s understandable. His world’s just changed possibly forever, the person he loves just died in his arms, and he just came back from a war, leaving his brothers there. It’s going to be hard. We’ve just got to help him through it, yeah?” </p><p>Ada nodded, passing a cup of tea to her aunt, Tommy’s still clutched in her right hand. “I’ll go take it to him.” </p><p>“Give him my love.” Ada smiled sympathetically and made the journey to her brother’s room with the tea. When she entered, she came to see that he was no longer standing in front of the window, but on the seat she was previously seated on, writing in the notebook. </p><p>“Hey, Tom.” She placed the tea on his bedside table, before standing back by the door, to let him know she wasn’t clinging onto him, that he still had some independence. </p><p><em>‘hello ada’.</em> he passed her a note with shaking hands, before continuing to write. </p><p>“Tommy, are you sure? Why don’t you let Polly do it for a while, while you get the hang of things. I’d still love to learn sign language but I don’t think I’m the best person to do your business dealings with you.”</p><p>
  <em>’ada, your looking the other way is important. i know i can trust you. please</em>
</p><p>Ada considered it. “...Fine. I’ll help you… drink your tea, try to get some sleep; I’ll leave you to it.” Ada left, waiting behind the door for a moment, before leaving. </p><p> </p><p>Thomas continued writing… </p><p>
  <em>arthur</em>
</p><p>
  <em>pols right. its queit without allt he boys here. i hope everyones okay out there wihtout me there! get back to me, arthur. want you home</em>
</p><p>
  <em>thomas</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A tear fell down Tommy’s face as he placed the letter in an envelope, but he wiped it before it could get anywhere further than his sunken eye socket. He simply wouldn’t let himself succumb to this. If he fell down that hole, he wasn’t sure if he could make it back out. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Ada learnt sign language, Polly learnt sign language, Charlie and Finn learnt sign language. Tommy adopted some unhealthy habits; drinking, not eating, to deal with the stress, to deal with Greta’s death, to deal with everything from France, everything that happened there. He was spending more time in the office of the betting shop than anywhere else, and all he needed was the letter saying John or Arthur was dead to tip him over the edge. </p><p>There was a knock at the door. Tommy can’t reply, so after a moment, the door opens and Tommy doesn’t look up from his paperwork until Ada and Polly are standing in front of him. When he does look up, their smiling faces look back at him. </p><p><em>’What’s going on?’</em> he signed after putting his pen down. </p><p>“Tom, it’s good news.”</p><p><em>’What is it?’</em> Ada pushed a newspaper towards him. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>IT’S OVER! JOY AND THANKSGIVING MARK START OF ARMISTICE ON GREATEST DAY IN HISTORY</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>What? War’s over?’</em> Tommy wasn’t so sure about what was happening. He couldn’t get his hopes up about seeing his brothers again, because that’s what would hurt him more when the letter came that they died. </p><p>“Yes, Thomas.” Polly was talking through a smile. “Thought you’d be a little happier at the thought of seeing your brothers again.” </p><p><em>’Did you check the post? No letters?’</em> He couldn’t be sure his brothers were alive until they were safely back in Small Heath. </p><p>Ada leant forward in her seat, holding her hands out sympathetically for him. “Tommy, they’re alive. They’re okay. They’re coming home.”</p><p><em>’Can’t be sure. Can’t be sure about anything when it comes to war’</em>. He stood up from his chair and moved around to the other side of the office, organising files and papers. </p><p>“Tommy, they’re coming home. We’re going to be a family again. Finn’s…” Ada’s voice faded out into nothing as Tommy’s vision went blurry. His gaze fixed on nothing in particular, finger tapping on the side of his thigh. </p><p>“Tom?” Ada promptly stood up and moved over to where Tommy was still staring. Polly soon followed her. “Tommy, can you hear me?” </p><p>“Ada, he’s fitting. Get ready to-” Polly was cut off by Tommy falling to the ground. Both girls rushed to his side, kneeling down. “Take your scarf off and put it under his head. I’m going to roll him on his side.” Ada did as she was told, and Polly put Thomas into the recovery position. </p><p>This had happened quite a few times, and it was only when it happened twice in a day or for longer than five minutes that it became an emergency, something to worry about. It had happened a couple of times, and Tommy always managed to worry everyone, but he’d always been lucky. </p><p>“How long’s it been?” Polly asked calmly. </p><p>Ada looked down at her watch. “Two minutes.”</p><p>“Okay, it shouldn’t be much longer.” Saliva was hanging from his mouth, and every now and then, chunks of food (the little food that Tommy ate) would expel itself from his mouth. </p><p>Eventually, the movements slowed down until they finally stopped. </p><p>Consciousness came back to Tommy slowly, before he finally felt close enough to the room around him, and his sister and aunt sitting in front of him. “Thomas?” He heard Polly say. He wouldn’t have known it was Polly, his senses still confused, but she was the only one who called him Thomas these days. “Can you hear me?” </p><p>They’d organised a few seizures ago that if Tommy could hear her, he would have to show some sort of sign. They’d decided tapping his fingers on the floor a couple of times then stopping was adequate, so that is what he did. </p><p>“Are you in pain?” Tap with one finger for yes. Tap with two fingers for no. Tom raised one index finger a couple of centimeters above the ground before dropping it on the floor, too tired and hurting to put much more effort into it. </p><p>Polly whispered to Ada, “We need to sit him up.” Ada nodded and they pulled Thomas up so he was leaning against the bookshelf.</p><p>“Tommy, are you feeling okay?” Ada asked clearly in case he was still confused. He closed his eyes and managed a gentle nod. “Are you going to be sick?” He nodded again. Ada gently placed her arms around his neck and pulled him forward slightly so he wouldn’t choke on his vomit. He retched onto his own clothes, which had already been ruined from dust on the floor. He also couldn’t tell whether his bladder had failed him this time, too. “Done?” Tommy rested his head against the back of the bookshelf again and nodded his head. </p><p>He slept for two hours, at the side of his office, and Polly and Ada took turns in being with him. Finally, he woke up, a little more strength in him. </p><p><em>’War’s really over?</em> he signed to Ada limply when he gained his strength back. His sense of smell was returning to him, and he could tell how much he smelt, sick and piss (it turned out that yes, his bladder failed him) all over him. But Ada didn’t seem to care; she was his brother and she was there for him. </p><p>“Yes, it is.”</p><p><em>’They’re really coming home, aren’t they?</em> </p><p>“Yes, they are, Tom.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Ada, Polly, Tommy and Finn stood at the train station, waiting. The platform was crowded, and there was an uproar of cheers as the train pulled into the station. The doors opened and there was crying, kissing, hugging, and it was beautiful. Even Tommy cracked a small smile at the sight of sweethearts reunited. </p><p>That was the moment John and Arthur stepped off the train, looking around for their family. Ada reached her arm up and waved for them to come over. Both the brothers speed walked through the crowds, weaving between people in the process. Ada opened her arms and both the brothers hugged her, then moved on to hug Polly and Finn. </p><p>Thomas remained silent, stood slightly behind the others. The uniforms all around were bringing back bad memories. The smell of mustard gas flooded his nose and he stumbled backwards slightly. Ada was quick to turn around, holding his upper arms. </p><p>“Tommy, you okay?” she asked. He took a moment to compose himself, then nodded and stepped back forward. </p><p>
  <em>’Translate for me’</em>
</p><p>He began to sign, and Ada translated to the boys. “How are you boys?”</p><p>“Not bad, not bad,” John replied. “How are you, Tom?”</p><p>Ada continued, “I’ve been better, but I’ll be fine.”</p><p>Polly interjected, “You’ve been better? You only just got out of the hospital!” </p><p>Tommy had recently had two seizures one after the other, and he had to be taken to the hospital. </p><p>John and Arthur’s faces were flushed with confusion. Ada spoke for herself, “Did you not tell them?” </p><p>
  <em>’I focused on saying goodbye when I had my chat with them.’</em>
</p><p>Polly explained, “When Tommy hit his head, you know he had brain damage? It didn’t just affect his speech; he’s been having seizures.”</p><p>Arthur and John ad-libbed their worry with general apologies. </p><p>Polly smiled. “Enough of that, let’s go home, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>They all sat around a warm cup of tea; Ada could see that his brothers being in uniform was upsetting Thomas, so she discreetly told them to change. </p><p>“Did you get back okay?”Ada asked the boys. Finn has gone to bed so they could talk about the serious things that come with war. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine. Got shot a while back, but it’s fine.” Polly could tell Arthur was downplaying it for them, so they wouldn’t worry. </p><p>“John?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m good. Tom, Danny and Freddie said they missed you. They’re coming back soon but there’s some tunnels that need sorting out.” Tommy tried to hide his shiver at that, but Arthur noticed it. </p><p><em>’Ada, translate’</em>. She began to translate what he was saying. <em>’How are the boys?’</em></p><p>“Umm…” Arthur took a deep breath. “The boys from the regiment up are all dead. Every last one of them.” Tommy tried to swear but all that came out was a groan and slur of random syllables. Arthur tried to ignore it. ”Danny’s alive, but he’s… he’s not well, Tom. He can still hear the shovels and shells.” </p><p>Tommy could always hear the shovels at night, which is how he often didn’t sleep. Was he just as mad as Danny?</p><p>“Freddie’s fine. Smith died, Johnson’s lost an arm and a leg. Jones’ got third degree burns everywhere. 10 of ‘em are unaccounted for or missing. Rest are fine.” Tommy slammed his hands on the table and stood up, groaning in place of what would normally have been a swear, but Tom stopped himself from murmuring nonsense. </p><p>“Thomas, calm down, sweetheart.” Polly reached her hands over which caused Tommy to look at them, then at the fridge in the corner, as if there was something on it, or standing in front of it, that shouldn’t be there. “Thomas…- Arthur, John, get out.” She understood Tommy would kill her if she let his brothers watch as he mortified himself. </p><p>“W- what?” John’s face curled in confusion. </p><p>“Fucking get out!” Ada almost shouted, ushering them to the door. Confused, they did as they were told, and Polly and Ada’s attention turned back to her brother, who was still staring to the corner of the room, as if something was there. He was picking with his blazer and swallowing over and over and over. </p><p>“Pol, get ready to catch him,” Ada said calmly in case Tommy was conscious for this one. </p><p>“Clear the area,” Polly replied, nodding, also calmly. Ada moved any objects from the area while Polly looked at her watch. It was after that that Tom fell to the ground, supported by Polly to the floor, where she supported his head on her lap. She brushed her fingers through her hair once before pulling herself away and moving him into the recovery position. </p><p>Ada stroked his hair while Polly prepared tea for after. The tea was ready, Tommy was not. </p><p>“Polly, he’s not stopping.” Her voice was more worried now, loud to make sure she heard her. “How long’s it been?” </p><p>Polly looked at her watch. “Fuck, five minutes. Ada, find John and Arthur. Tell them to get to the Garrison and call an ambulance. Then come back here.” </p><p>“Okay.” Ada was already half out the door, while Polly had assumed her position with her nephew. The door slammed shut as Ada had left, and Polly held her fingers to Tom’s wrist and waited.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy recovers because Tommy cannot die, and he meets someone for his first legal business.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Come on, Thomas. Wake up,” Polly’s voice wavered as she stopped herself from allowing tears to fall. He’d bitten his tongue, and he’d been convulsing for upwards of ten minutes. As if God was listening to her, the contracting began to stop. “Yes, Thomas. You’re okay, you’re okay. If you can hear me, there’s an ambulance on the way. You’re going to be just fine.”</p>
<p>The front door swung open and Ada rushed in with Arthur and John. “What the fuck is going on?” </p>
<p>“Ada, did you call an ambulance?” Polly ignored John’s question. </p>
<p>“Yes, Pol. They’re on their way.” Ada was by Tommy’s side in a moment, running her fingers through his hair. </p>
<p>“He’s stopped but not responding.”</p>
<p>“Is he breathing?”</p>
<p>Polly leaned forward to feel the underside of his nose to see if air was coming out. To hear it, too. “A little, but it’s shallow. How long’s the ambulance going to be?” </p>
<p>“I don’t know; I just told them to be as quick as possible.”</p>
<p>“John, go outside. Let me know when the ambulance is on its way.” She paused for a moment, judging his every breath, or lack thereof. “Arthur, I need you to do chest compressions. He’s not breathing.”</p>
<p>“Wh- What do you mean?” Arthur asked, confused. </p>
<p>“Press your hands hard, very hard on his chest a few times at a time. Wait, then go again. We’re not strong enough; I need you to do it,” Ada explained. Reluctantly, Arthur kneeled in front of his brother and placed his hands on Tommy’s chest, taking a deep breath. Arthur was getting ready to press hard when a groan was heard. </p>
<p>“Tom, Tommy, can you hear me?" Tommy tried so hard to move his hand, before scaling it down to his fingers, before scaling it down to just one finger, which he finally managed. He made a few more garbled noises as Ada tried to get his attention. “Tom, you’re okay, you’re fine. There’s an ambulance on the way. Everything’s going to be fine.” She ran a finger through his hair and he limply tried to stop her. </p>
<p>The front door swung open and John was inside, “Ambulance is just down the street.”</p>
<p>It was only a moment later that the doors burst open once again to find Thomas, leaning against the wall, eyes half lidded, head lolled to the side, leaning on Ada’s shoulder, who was now also leaning against the wall next to him. “How’s he doing?” A paramedic asked, pulling equipment from his bag. </p>
<p>“He’s stopped fitting, but he’s almost catatonic. Did my niece explain to you the circumstance?” Polly said, her hand gently on Tommy’s knee. </p>
<p>“Yes, she did. Has this happened before?” the other paramedic asked. Ada nodded, and held up one finger. It seemed quicker and less shocking to her brothers if she did so. ”Thomas Shelby, did you say he was?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Arthur replied, almost expectantly. </p>
<p>The second paramedic leant down in front of Tommy and gently cupped his chin. “Mr Shelby, can you hear me?” Tommy’s eyes were open, barely. Slowly, they connected with his. “Can you squeeze your sister’s hand if you can hear me, sir?” His attempt was almost unnoticeable, but it was there. His fingers twitched around Ada’s hand and there was a slight pressure made upon it. </p>
<p>“Yeah, he can,” Ada reassured. “He seems fine, can we just take him to bed?” </p>
<p>The first paramedic thought, and then nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, but if there are any issues, make it known.” All the others nodded. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took some effort to bring the half-sleeping Thomas upstairs and into his room, onto his bed. By the time Ada had tucked him in and taken her seat beside the bed, he was out. He awoke slowly, then all at once. Sitting up, he gained the attention of Ada in front of him. <em>I need to get working. Where’s my suit?</em></p>
<p>“Tommy, take it easy for a while,” Ada tried to make him lay back down, but failed and drew her hands back. </p>
<p>
  <em>I cannot let this stop me anymore. Someone’s coming here for a business meeting. I need you to come with me</em>
</p>
<p>“Tommy, I have things to do.”</p>
<p><em>You told me you’d translate for me. I need you to do that now.</em> </p>
<p>“Fine, Tommy. I’ll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Ten, I’ll meet you at Charlie’s Yard in ten minutes</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>I need you to sit with me, you can smile. Translate exactly what I say no more, no less. You can introduce yourself, Ada Shelby, Thomas Shelby’s speaker. Don’t change anything unless I tell you to.</em> </p>
<p>“Tommy, it’s not that serious. I’ll just do what you tell me to.” Mr Solomons was meeting them at Charlie’s Yard; he thought he’d enjoy the sentiment of a scrap metal yard. </p>
<p><em>I’m serious, Ada. Do exactly as I said, or we won’t walk out of here. This man works on impulse and will have us killed without a second thought. He’s from Camden in London; we’re trying to make a deal.</em> </p>
<p>“What exactly do you mean by a ‘deal’?”</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s nothing dodgy. It’s mostly legal; he’s got a rum distillery which we’re going to export in the barges. I’ve got a license and everything. We just need to get on the right side of Mr Solomons and then it’s straight after that.</em>
</p>
<p>The two sat down at the table, a single empty chair looking back at them on the other side. It was a few more minutes before Mr Solomons appeared. He leant on his stick a little to help him walk, and Thomas could relate to his pain, the feeling of not being good enough, not on par with everyone else. Tommy stood up and held his hand out to shake with the man. <em>Ada, start translating.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Good evening, Mr Solomons</em>
</p>
<p>“Please, call me Alfie.” Good start, make things easy and calm. No need to start a war with the Jews. “ I heard you were in France.”</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve come to discuss your bakery with you, Alfie, not our personal lives. I talked to your correspondent about exporting your rum for a commission.</em>
</p>
<p>“Yes, I do recall. But, Thomas, I don’t do business with men who didn’t serve in France. They haven’t got the knowledge soldiers do.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Yes, I was in France, Alfie.</em>
</p>
<p>“Yes, I know. I did a little research into you. Tunneller, it says. Carbon monoxide poisoning and fucking brain damage down there. Well, you’ve had a fucking time of it then, haven’t you?” Tommy simply nodded microscopically, but Alfie saw. Alfie was watching his every movement and Thomas was doing the same to him. “I’m guessing you learnt a lot from the war.”</p>
<p><em>There is hell, and there is another place below hell.</em> Alfie almost didn’t react, and it pained Ada to translate, still painfully unaware of what happened in France. </p>
<p>“Ah, well, that’s fucking poetic, isn’t it. You should write a book, eh Tommy.”</p>
<p>Tommy was frustrated and ready to change the subject. <em>Your rum distillery, besides your track betting, is the sole legal part of your company, making up 20% of your profits. With my help, that number can increase and so will your money.</em></p>
<p>“And you’re going to want a cut of this, am I right?”</p>
<p><em>I don’t do things for free, Alfie. In return for taking your rum past the dirty fingered and to where you want it, I will settle for 25% of the profits.</em> Some of the words Ada couldn’t quite understand, filling in the gaps, which she knew Tommy would berate her for later on. The moment she hesitated after 25%, Alfie pulled a gun, cocking it and setting it on the table, barrel facing Tommy. </p>
<p>“You know, I’m quite curious as to how Thomas Shleby, who runs Birmingham, responds to a bullet in the mouth.”</p>
<p>Tommy reached for his notebook in his pocket, aware Ada wouldn’t translate this if he begged her. <em>’If you’re going to do that, point it at the head. That’s where the trouble is.’</em> Ada didn’t even see the note. She’d remind herself later to ask him what it said, why he didn’t want her to know. </p>
<p>Alfie scoffed, a smile of slight awe on his face, before putting the gun away with his left hand, holding his right hand out, which Thomas shook. <em>I’ll see you soon, Alfie.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That actually took ages to write because I wasn't happy with it, so sorry it's been so long. It makes me all warm and happy when people give kudos and bookmark and comments, so please keep doing it. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated and I sincerely hope I'm representing all the characters right; let me know if I can do anything different.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy's back in the Garrison after the meeting with Alfie, and he can feel himself slipping away</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Family meeting in the kitchen. Ada translating for Tommy. “What have you brought us for, Tommy?” Arthur asked before taking a gulp of his Irish whiskey. He’d been doing that a lot recently. All the brothers had. </p>
<p>
  <em>I have just spoken with Mr Solomons, who owns a rum distillery in Camden Town. We have made a deal for our family to transport the rum in barges between Camden and Birmingham, for now. If all goes well we will travel further out.</em>
</p>
<p>Finn placed a cup of tea in front of Tommy, then another in front of Polly, and then to the rest of them. It was the only thing marginally close to food Tom had been eating for days, weeks, he wasn’t sure which. Time seemed to be passing at a strange speed. Minutes would last hours, and then a day would pass by where he was sure he hadn’t moved a muscle. </p>
<p>Another minute passed by, or an hour, or a day, and someone was getting his attention. He snapped out of his trance, still unaware of his surroundings. He pulled his heavy hands from the table and signed. <em>Sorry, what were you saying?</em></p>
<p>John smiled, ignoring his brother’s mental absence. “I said we should go to the Garrison to celebrate.” Tommy thought about it. In all the time he’d been home, he hadn’t returned to the Garrison. It seemed the perfect opportunity to go back for the first time, despite his deep diswant to, so he nodded his head. </p>
<p>“Can I come?” Finn appeared in the doorway.</p>
<p>“Have you been listening in?” Arthur joked. “No, you can’t come, you’re only ten!”</p>
<p>“I’m eleven Sunday!” Finn argued, and everyone laughed and dribbled into their conversations, as Tommy thought about everything. The world seemed to stop spinning around him and he froze in his spot as everything continued in front of him. He could almost feel the weight dropping off him. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d eaten, days, weeks, months. It could have been fucking years for all he knew. They’d tried to feed him. In the days he hadn’t left his room, Polly or Ada brought him food, but he never gave it so much as a glance. </p>
<p>He knew Arthur and John had been to the Garrison since they got back. He knew that he should, knew that he needs to know who he’s protecting and maintain his reputation. He’d changed into an entirely different person since getting back; he didn’t do the shit he used to anymore. He promised Greta he’d change the world and he’d stick to that promise if it was the last thing he did. </p>
<p>Abruptly, unaware of the conversation, Thomas stood up and left the room, left the house. He couldn’t stand being in that house any longer, surrounded by such positivity, suffocated by the support he so desperately wanted to shake off. He was sure they were talking to him, asking him to come back, asking him what was wrong, but he didn’t hear them. </p>
<p>He walked to Charlie’s Yard, where he was making himself lunch. He looked up and scoffed when he saw his nephew. “What the fuck are you doing here, Tommy?” </p>
<p>
  <em>Need somewhere to stay, uncle.</em>
</p>
<p>“Has your house blown up or something, to make you want to stay here?” he almost laughed. </p>
<p><em>Is the attic room still spare?</em> Tommy was already walking through the stablehouse. Charlie followed him. </p>
<p>“Yes, of course, Thomas. May I ask why you won’t stay in your perfectly good home?”</p>
<p><em>No, you may not.</em> Tommy climbed the stairs into the attic, seeing an almost furnished bedroom. Almost furnished: there was a bed, a bedside table and a desk. All devoid of life or colour. Perfect for what Tommy wanted. <em>Thank you, Charlie. Hopefully I won’t stay long. I’m off to my office,<em> Tommy walked back down the stairs and started walking towards the door. <em>Pay someone to bring a couple suits from the house.</em> </em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Before Charlie had a chance to reply, Tommy was gone. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>As noted, he did go to his office, sitting behind it and making plans for the rum and for some other areas of business. He wasn’t sure how long he worked for; time seemed just a construct. The door swung open and Ada was in front of him. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Charlie says you’re staying with him. Is that true?” Tommy didn’t answer. Didn’t react. “Tommy, is that true?” Tommy didn’t answer still, but looked up and hooked her eyes with his. “Are you still coming to the Garrison?” Tommy nodded, emotionless. “I’m going to get some whiskey in you, then maybe you’ll explain to me what the fuck is going on… You better hurry up; we’re all there already.” She was obviously riled up. Perhaps she knew how long he’d been here. She left, and he looked out the window. Dark. Strange, when did that happen? </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Thomas looked down at his pocket watch; hours passed. He didn’t remember that. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember much at all since his meeting with Alfie. He’d been in autopilot for hours, working as a robot, working purely on adrenaline. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Wearing the same suit he’d been wearing for three days, it became aware, he walked to the Garrison, his legs weak under him. He’d gotten past the point of hunger a long time ago. It wasn’t hard to forget to eat, and he was no longer certain the reason he didn’t eat. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He saw the building in front of him and his stomach turned, and his heart fluttered. He took a deep breath and opened both sets of doors to the Garrison. He was met with a cheer from his brothers, who welcomed him with a glass of Irish whiskey. His eyes shot to a table to the side, where Freddie Thorne, man of the fucking hour, was sitting. Sitting with Ada. Sitting with fucking Ada. He guessed he was looking confused, or shocked, because Freddie stood up, motioned to Ada that he would be a moment, and walked to him. Ada prepared herself to stand up, knowing Tommy would want her. Instead, Tom called over Polly to translate for him. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Beginning to think you’d died, Tommy. Thought you’d be in here every night, especially now your brothers are back.” Tom was quite pleased to see him, they considered each other to be brothers down there.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>Where’s Danny?</em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“First night back, he’s with his wife. I can imagine there’ll be another baby popping out in a few months.” </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It pained Tommy to say it, it really did. But, he needed to thank Freddie for what he and Danny did that night, or day, or whatever the fuck it was. He wasn’t sure because he could barely fucking see. <em>Thank you, Freddie.</em> Polly sounded shocked even as she said it. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I thought losing your voice, Tommy Shelby’s voice; the one that gets him out of everything and into whoever’s pants he wants, would make you want to fucking die, Tom. But here you are, fucking thanking me.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>Whether I want to die or not is, as I believe, not your concern. Why are you sitting with my sister?</em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“You’d punch me if I told you.” That was enough of an answer Tommy needed. He couldn’t stick her in handcuffs and tell her who she could and couldn’t fuck. And, he must admit, she hadn’t chosen the worst of them. Freddie went back to sitting next to Ada, and they talked. He watched them for a moment, or two, or an hour. He wasn’t sure. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Come on, Tom.” A weight on his shoulder. Pressing down, pressing hard down weighing- “Let’s get some drink in you."</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>BIG TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR SUICIDE AND SUICIDAL THOUGHTS</p><p>Please be safe reading</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A woman came over, a girl, in fact. She was a barmaid, a pretty one at that. Tommy would introduce himself. Tommy would shake her hand. Instead, he nudged Polly, leaving Ada (who was still sitting with Freddie). <em>Pol, can you translate?</em> he asked. Polly could tell what this was going to be about. </p><p>“No, Thomas. If you want to fuck a girl, you’ll have to do it on your own accord. Your mother would turn in her grave.” She smiled slightly and turned her head back to the family. </p><p>Tommy scoffed and turned to the girl. <em>It’s okay. I know sign language; my mother’s deaf.</em> Tom had never had to read signs before, only use them, so it took a moment to understand what she was saying. </p><p>
  <em>How long have you been working here? Never thought Harry would hire a girl. Too worried something would happen</em>
</p><p>“A couple months. I think he hired me for my singing.” She’s Irish. She has a lovely accent, one he wishes he could have. Actually, that’s a lie, he just wants an accent at all. Something to hold onto, something to give him sophistication and professionalism. Something. “Why would Harry be worried?”</p><p>
  <em>There’s people in here, my brothers as an example, are a little too welcoming to beautiful women such as yourself. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure nothing happens.</em>
</p><p>“They’ll listen to you?”</p><p>
  <em>You’ll find that everyone listens to me… What’s your name?</em>
</p><p>“Grace. Grace Burghes.”</p><p>
  <em>Tommy Shelby.</em>
</p><p>Grace’s face dropped slightly, her smile dropping. “They told me about you.”</p><p>
  <em>It’s not as bad as it seems.</em>
</p><p>“Tell me how it is, then.” They talked. They talked for hours. It was the closest thing to happiness anyone had seen Tommy in since coming back from France. He almost smiled. His family could almost see a flicker of hope in his eyes. Almost.</p><p>Almost. </p><p>But the night comes to an end, and the siblings have to leave. </p><p>Polly was first to note they should go, so the siblings could eat something to soak in the alcohol. The boys, of course, were not happy, but Polly then noted that she couldn’t leave Finn on his own for longer than she already had. </p><p>They walked home, and Tommy didn’t communicate at all. There was a darkness behind his eyes he gained ever since Polly suggested food. His face went pale and his almost smile dropped whatever it still had and he began the walk home silently. </p><p>He reached the house before the others, swiftly taking himself to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. He locked the door to his room and sat on the bed. He'd been feeling worse all day, worse than usual, that is. His almost smile was fake, everything was. Grace had beautiful eyes, beautiful hair and that beautiful accent almost made him smile.</p><p>Almost. </p><p>Fucking almost. </p><p>He saw the way Pol and the others looked at him, even Freddie. He wanted as much as they did for things to go back to how they were before France. More than. But he couldn’t ignore the physical pain in his heart and chest any time he thought about living for more than another week. </p><p>No more than another week. </p><p>No more than another day. </p><p>Or an hour or a fortnight. What is the future when it won't even exist at all?</p><p>No more than another fucking minute. </p><p>Thomas Michael Shelby did what he had to do; he pulled his cap from his head, embedded with a razor blade. “Markings of a king,” Freddie had once told him. No. He’d never make it quite that far. </p><p>Blood dripped from his fingers as he cut into his wrist, deeper and deeper. His mind grew foggy and the last thing that came to his head before he dropped and drifted was that Irish accent.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Suicide helplines:</p><p>UK: 0330 094 5717<br/>US: 1 800 253 2334</p><p>I don't know any others but please be careful and ask for help if you need it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy wakes up. He's not so happy about it</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy woke up slowly, and there was almost an element of peacefulness in his heart. Of course, then he remembered the events, what he’d done. Waking up means not dying. Not dying means surviving. </p>
<p>And Tommy Shelby cannot survive.</p>
<p>They say, don’t they, that anyone can survive, that it’s living that is the hard part. </p>
<p>Thomas Shelby stopped living long ago. He lost the will to survive that fateful night in France. Because he was supposed to die. It’s in his blood. His gypsy blood. He was meant to die that day. And now all he can do is try to fit in amongst the living while all he wants is absolution, death. </p>
<p>Peace. </p>
<p>And he almost did. </p>
<p>Almost. </p>
<p>It will always be the tipping scales of which ‘almost’ wins. </p>
<p>Almost smiled. <br/>Almost died. </p>
<p>One day, one or the other may win. Not today. For either. He’s too far gone to smile and with the likelihood of his family undoubtedly watching him like a hawk, perhaps it will be a while before he can die. Or at the very least, almost die. </p>
<p>His attention is brought back to the matter at hand. </p>
<p>He is on a bed. As he reaches his hands slowly to the edges of the bed, he deduces he is lying on a single bed. That doesn’t rule out much. He’s never even been on a double bed. Not his own, anyway. In the brothels, before France, the expensive ones often had double beds. Sometimes it was two singles put together. </p>
<p>There’s a blanket draped over him, tucked in at the edges of the thin mattress. Clinical. </p>
<p>Smells clean, too. Rules out his bedroom, which has always held the thick stench of shit that accompanied living in Birmingham. It also has the lingering smell of opium from the pipe he uses to help him sleep. It doesn’t work. Nothing works. </p>
<p>Hospital. </p>
<p>Of course. </p>
<p>Of course. That will ruin whoever’s left of his reputation, won’t it? Tommy Shelby, now known for having slit his wrists with his own weapon, in his own home, because he was too pissed and far gone to find a better place to do it. Somewhere he won’t be found until he is well and truly dead.</p>
<p>There’s something in his hand. At first he thinks it could be the flatcap, the razor in question he used to act the job. </p>
<p>But it feels almost like another hand. </p>
<p>This time the almost becomes a certainty. <br/>This time he doesn’t want it to be. </p>
<p>Female hand. No ring. That means either his mother’s come back from the dead, or it’s Ada. Tommy’s sure he is going mad, so wonders which of the two it could be. </p>
<p>Then there’s a voice. A lot of voices. There’s some shouting, someone trying to calm someone down. Something and something. Something else. </p>
<p>When he tries to focus on the sounds, his head starts to hurt, then turns lightheaded as he tries to breathe through it. The shouting dies down and he can almost feel the eyes on him. </p>
<p>“Tom, wake up, wake up now.” He thinks he can hear Polly. Or it could be Ada. It’s definitely a female voice. “Tommy, wake up.” It’s Ada; Polly doesn’t call him Tommy, just Thomas. </p>
<p>The last thing to come back in his slow journey to awakeness is his eyes, which he finally blinks a few times until they open. </p>
<p>“Oh my god, Tommy, thank god.” So it was Ada. Points to half-asleep Tommy. He lolls his head to the side to meet Ada’s eyes, which look… almost hopeful. </p>
<p>Almost. </p>
<p>“Thomas, thank God you’re awake. How do you feel?” Stupid fucking question. He can’t answer. </p>
<p>Avoiding the question, Tommy lolls his head to the other side, where his eyes meet with Arthur’s then John’s. </p>
<p>“Tom, what the fuck were you thinking?” Arthur’s voice. He didn’t sound frustrated or angry. Disappointed. Sad. “You can’t do this, you’re my brother, you’re not allowed to do this.”</p>
<p>Pulling his hand from Ada’s grasp, Tommy weakly signed to his aunt and sister, who he hoped would translate to his brothers. They did. <em>I’m gonna stay at Charlie’s for a while. Get some work done</em></p>
<p>“Thomas, what were you thinking, pulling something like this?” Polly’s eyebrows knit in concern as she tries to catch his blue eyes in hers. But doesn’t. </p>
<p><em>What did you say to the doctors?</em> There is no way in hell they’d tell the doctors what had really happened, and if they did, he’d have to kill them all to make sure no one found out. </p>
<p>“You had a seizure, cut your wrist on the way down.”</p>
<p>
  <em>And in reality…</em>
</p>
<p>“It was the other way round. Body went into shock and you had a fit.” Polly speaks very matter-of-factly, but even in his drug-addled, water drowned mind, he could see she was holding back tears. “You lost a lot of blood, Thomas, by the time we found you. They were worried you weren’t going to pull through.”</p>
<p>
  <em>How long have I been here?</em>
</p>
<p>“A week or so. I’ll have to cut your hair,” Ada replies. He shudders at the thought of it. He’s been doing his own for a long time, every couple of days, just a little at a time. Any more scares him, going anywhere near the long scar running along the right side of his head. Above his right ear across to the back of his head. </p>
<p>
  <em>Charlie’s got a spare room above the stables. There’s a bed up there, he said I could use it.</em>
</p>
<p>“Not before I get that hair cut. Don’t look right, Tommy.” Ada tries to laugh, but it comes out awkward and unreturned by anyone. Tommy simply nods, aware that he probably looks just the same as he feels. Perhaps worse. If that’s even possible. </p>
<p>“Tom, you can’t do this again. If you even get anywhere close to it, you have to talk to us,” Polly explained. Why? Why does everything always have to be open? Why does he have to talk about this? Can’t he just kill himself and die peacefully and hope everyone can move on with their lives. </p>
<p>He decides not to reply to that question, instead asking another. <em>Has Alfie Solomons been in contact? I was meant to be meeting him the day after-...</em></p>
<p>“Yes,” Ada replied. “He found out you were in hospital, wanted to make sure you were alright. I said you’d meet with him when you were out.” </p>
<p><em>You’ll come with me?</em> He means it as a question, but also means it more as a statement. She’ll come with him, or he won’t be able to at all. Unless he invited Polly, and he wouldn’t, because who knows how that would end up. </p>
<p>Ada scoffs, then nods. “Yes, Tommy. I’ll come with you.”</p>
<p><em>Get out.</em> He directs at everyone. They all protest, but Tommy has a stern look on his face and points to the door. With a sigh, they all leave, and Tommy drops his head on the pillow, taking a deep breath. </p>
<p>He reaches his right hand to the right side of his head, running it along the scar. If he could just… get that messed up part of his brain out, everything would be okay and that part of his brain would be gone and things would go back to how they were before the war. If he could just-</p>
<p>He scratches at the side of his head until it draws blood from his old wound. He keeps scratching. If he could just get in his broken head out, if he could just-</p>
<p>There’s hands on his, pulling it away, forcing it away. They don’t understand, they don’t fucking understand. If he doesn’t get it out, he’ll be like this-</p>
<p>“Tommy, stop it. Tom.” Ada. She’s pulling his hand away and forcing it against his chest, which beats fast against his fingers. “Fuck, it’s bleeding… Tommy. Tom, look at me. Look at me, okay?” It is then that he notices he hasn’t been breathing. He hasn’t been breathing and as he notices it, it becomes harder and harder to focus on it, to breathe. Breathe</p>
<p>Breathe</p>
<p>Breathe. </p>
<p>Breathe...</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed! This is the furthest I've actually ever gotten in a fanfiction because I'm usually bored and lost interest by now, but I'm loving this and as soon as I post a chapter I'm already starting another one!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Big time skip here, because I wanted the story to begin to move on</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy is sitting up on his own, finally. He won’t talk about it, won’t talk about anything to do with what resulted in him being there. He closes entirely, more so than he did when he got back.</p><p>So, Tommy is sitting up on his own, finally, legs over the side of the bed. Ada is behind him with a razor. Tommy is tensed up. He tried to refuse, but Ada insisted he wasn’t leaving this place until his hair looked right. She isn’t bothered by the scar running along his head, but can’t help but wonder whether the part of his brain that once contained his smiles and jokes and happiness left with his speech, whether it will ever return. </p><p>And so she begins. She tries to distract Tommy and herself from the way he tenses up every time she even glances a look at the right side of his head. Her distractions almost work. </p><p>Almost. </p><p>She can feel him shiver and close when comes the time she has to shave the righter side of his head. “It’s okay, Tom. I’m not going to hurt you.” It’s almost a whisper. She doesn’t want anyone to hear her, she knows he’d kill her for letting others hear his weakness, if he had the energy to, or the care to, that is. </p><p>He doesn’t reply to her comment. He doesn’t show any indication of hearing it at all. He seems to be in another world entirely, as he has been for the whole day. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy is staring at the wall in front of him. There’s tiles, lots of them. He follows the cracks with his eyes, while he thinks. He thinks until his head hurts, and then thinks a little more. He’s sure Ada is still cutting his hair, perhaps she is still talking to him, but he wouldn’t know. She could be shouting at him, shouting right in his ear and he wouldn’t know. </p><p>There could be a fire.</p><p>He could be dead. </p><p>And he wouldn’t even know.</p><p>Maybe if he just- if he just got the shattered part of his brain out, maybe he’d be alive again, maybe he’d be alive and everything would go back to how it was before. If he could just get in and pull it out, then maybe-</p><p>“Tom- Tommy, stop- fucking stop it.” All too fast he’s brought back to the surface of awareness and there are hands pulling his hand away from the side of his head. He pushes them away because she doesn’t understand. He has to do this. He has to do this or it’ll be like this forever. He has to. He has to. </p><p>He has to. </p><p>And he almost does. </p><p>Almost. </p><p>But the hands don’t give up and there’s more hands and he’s lying on his back. He’s back lying on the bed, like he was before, when he woke up. He woke up. Why did he have to wake up? Why couldn’t he be at peace, leave it at that, never live to see another day? </p><p>Why are there more hands? Ada only has two. Are there more hands or is he just too weak as he falls into the weight of whoever’s hands they are. He doesn’t crack. The last time he cracked he lost his voice. He doesn’t break his facade as his sister likely expects him to. He cannot show weakness, because that’s what results in pain. Pain allows heartbreak and loss to seep in. No one can see that. </p><p>No one can see that. Especially not Ada. If she told Freddie, that’s his reputation ruined beyond all repair. Beyond all fucking repair. Whatever's left of it, anyway</p><p>“Tom, what the fuck.” He decides it’s still not time to talk. Well, his equivalent of talk. It’s good because she’s still holding his wrists against his chest, leaning over him like a wolf about to devour his prey. </p><p>He notices how vulnerable he is in this position. No way out of a situation like this. He’s lucky she’s his sister. Someone could hurt him, take advantage of him. Give him what he probably deserves. And there’s fuckall he could do about it. </p><p> </p><p>Ada doesn’t know what Tommy is thinking, scratching at his wound like that. It’s dangerous. Twice, because once isn’t bad enough. </p><p>She worries more about him now than she did holding his hand, waiting for him to wake up. He looks peaceful when he is sleeping. Now he’s so quiet, so silent. She knows she cannot expect him to start talking as you and I would. But there is just nothing. No forms of communication at all. He avoids eye contact altogether. </p><p>“Tom,” Ada asks later, when Tommy has calmed down a little more. “What was that?”</p><p>Tommy cannot answer. Neither in words nor signs. He’s had both good days and bad days. This is a particularly bad day. He normally tries not to let his family see the particularly bad days, but sometimes it’s harder than others. </p><p>Bad day. </p><p>There’s a hand in front of his face, which snaps him from his thoughts. It’s clicking. Ada is trying to get his attention. </p><p>“Tommy, talk to me. You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to do this on your own.” She doesn’t understand. She wasn’t fucking there. She didn’t hear the fear in Danny’s voice or the panic in Freddie’s. “Tom; please, talk to me.”</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to stay at Charlie’s for a while, while I get some business done.</em>
</p><p>“And I’m guessing there isn’t anything I can do to change your mind?” Tommy simply nods. “You know, Pol snatched your file when the doctor weren’t looking. They think speech therapy might work. To get your voice back.”</p><p>Tommy doesn’t answer, and she is almost shocked to find she isn’t surprised. </p><p> </p><p>*-*-*-*-*</p><p> </p><p>It worked. <br/>It fucking worked. </p><p>Again, some days were better than others. Some days he can talk eloquently and without difficulty or so much as a stutter. Some days, Tommy cannot talk at all. These days everyone is thankful for their knowledge of sign language. </p><p>There are the inbetween days where his stutter almost kills him with frustration. It gets better, disappears for days or weeks, then comes back just like the fucking weather.</p><p>Today is an in-between day. Tommy hates them, especially in times like today, when he has business meetings to be getting on with. He would say Alfie’s gotten used to it, that he barely notices it anymore, but he knows what he’s thinking. If only that attempt could have worked. </p><p>“You see, the issue here, Tommy, is that Sabini makes me want to throw up on a constant basis. If I have to look at him for much longer, mate, I might put a bullet between his fucking eyes.” Tommy takes a deep breath. Of course, he wants to shoot Sabini, too, but sometimes we have to fucking hold ourselves back. Of course, Alfie has no sense of self-control, as shown through his taking a weapon to every meeting, knowing Alfie does the same. </p><p>“T- That is s-somet- th- thing you’re going t- to have t- to w-w work that out y- yo- on your own. It w- would be very b- bad f- for b- b…” The word is gone. Fucking gone. This is so embarrassing, not being able to talk properly in a fucking business meeting, and an important one at that. After a moment of trying, he snaps his mouth shut, grips the side of his chair, before opening his mouth to try again. “Business.” Alfie doesn’t seem to even notice. It’s been an elephant in the room, they haven’t discussed his voice since that first meeting with Ada. </p><p>“Yeah, well, you’re the mediator. Why don’t you talk to him for me?” Tommy bites his tongue momentarily, thinking about it. Does Alfie really want him ruining business for him talking to Sabini when the meeting would have a better chance of ending well with Alfie waltzing in with his gun out. </p><p>Clearly, Alfie can see the confusion on Tommy’s face. “Oh, come on, Tommy. Gotta face some enemies yourself some time soon.” Tommy thinks about it for a little while. Thinks about it; Alfie wants him to talk to Sabini. Actually wants him to talk to him because Tommy, ironically, is a good speaker and negotiator. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking in that head o’ yours. I can personally guarantee he will not give a rat’s arse. And if he does, well, you’re a Peaky Blinder, take his eyes. Bet it’s been a while since you’ve done something like that.”</p><p>They look at each other for a moment, and it becomes clear the air has just become a little less thick than it was just before. Alfie stares into Tommy’s blue eyes and Tommy looks at the dog to Alfie’s side, and wonders, strangely, what his name is.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tommy has his voice back!... for the most part.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shit really goes down in this chapter. </p>
<p>Triggers for a lot of gunshots and death.</p>
<p>But before that it Tommy's meeting with Sabini</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy checks his tie for the fourth time, before lowering the flat cap onto his head. He hasn’t spoken a word just yet today, too worried it will come out as nothing but noises. Then he’d have to deal with the utter embarrassment of asking one of the others to help him, talk for him while he flails his fucking arms around. </p>
<p>He takes a tablet, one of the ones the fucking doctor gave him to help with the seiures. They’ve been working. He hasn’t had one since taking them, but they make everything a little fuzzy around the sides. </p>
<p>He climbs down the steep stairs, confronting himself with a new foal and her mother. Beautiful, they both are. He would ordinarily spend a little time with them, but his suit must stay impeccable. </p>
<p>“Morning Tom,” Uncle Charlie says to him as he walks through to the kitchen. A strange one, Charlie’s house. “You feeling up to food today, then?” He’s mocking him, of course, for his lack of appetite as of recent times. </p>
<p>“N- No C- Charlie.” Fuck. It’s one of those days. He’s almost searching for a reason to call Sabini and cancel their meeting, reschedule it for a time he can fucking speak properly. </p>
<p>He sits down at the small round table and a cup of hot tea is pushed to him. He reluctantly wraps his fingers around it, feeling the tension of the ring Greta gave him before he left for France. </p>
<p>He brings the tea to his lips and it warms his throat and mouth until it is gone and his tongue returns to its naturally cold state. After a moment, Tommy stands back up and makes his way to the door. </p>
<p>“Tommy,” Charlie grabs his attention just before he leaves. He pauses for a moment. “Be careful.”</p>
<p>Tommy leaves and starts his journey to the Garrison, more and more knots securing themselves in his stomach, and his tongue twists and thickens around itself in a way that makes him never even want to try and speak again. </p>
<p>When he opens the double doors and walks to the bar, Grace greets him with a smile. “Hello, Tommy.”</p>
<p>“H- Hello, G- Grace,” Tommy replies and winces when it isn’t right. “I- Ir Irish w- wh- w-.” It’s not happening. The word just will not fucking come out of his mouth.”B- Bo- Bottle.” He just hopes she understands what he is saying. She does, of course she does. He only ever orders one thing, and he orders it a lot. It helps take away some of the pain. </p>
<p>She places a bottle and he holds up two fingers for two glasses, which she retrieves and passes to him. He nods in thanks and takes them to the side room, where he sits in view of the door. </p>
<p>He takes a deep breath and checks his gun for bullets, before putting it back in the holster. </p>
<p>He takes another deep breath before the door opens and a man walks in. Tommy knows first impressions are everything and this man, like Alfie, works off impulse and would kill him without a second thought. </p>
<p>“Mr Shelby,” Sabini nods as he sits down opposite him. </p>
<p>Tommy nods in recognition. “M- Mr S- So- Solomons w- wanted t- t- to d- di- discuss L- London with you, S- Sabini.” He fought for so long to get his voice back, and now he thinks it would be easier to have none at all. </p>
<p>“Why wouldn’t Mr Solomons come see me himself?” His Italian accent works its way into his ears, taking him a moment to process and understand it. Another side effect of the big fucking bang. </p>
<p>“H- He m- mentioned s- s- something about blowing your b- brains o-out.”</p>
<p>“So he sent the stuttering newbie… What are you after, Shelby?”</p>
<p>“T- Take your m- men o- ou- out of Camden. G- Give us your t- track licenses.”</p>
<p>“And why in God’s name would I do that?”</p>
<p>“Y- You’ve h- he- heard about us? T- The P- Peaky Blinders?”</p>
<p>“Are you threatening me?”</p>
<p>Tommy holds his hand. “S- Shake my hand or I- I’ll t- take yours off. D- Don’t doubt f- for a s- second t- that I- I w- wouldn’t.”</p>
<p>“Well, I guess you leave me no choice.” Sabini shakes his hand firmly and stands up to leave, abandoning the untouched whiskey on the table. </p>
<p>Tommy takes a deep breath and downs both whiskeys. This isn’t going to be this simple. It never is. Sabini would never just… hand everything over at the threat of losing a hand. Never. </p>
<p>Nevertheless, as everyone joins him in the Garrison (Pol, Ada, Arthur, John, Finn, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Freddie, Charlie, Curly, Danny), it gets pushed to the back of his mind. He’s confused, of course, as to what they’re all doing here.</p>
<p>“It’s your birthday, Tommy. We have to celebrate. We’re all here, we’re going to get black out drunk for your birthday,” Arthur laughed, grabbing as many bottles from behind the bar as he could carry. Grace grabbed enough glasses for everyone, pint glasses and a bottle of mild for Isiah and Finn. </p>
<p>He didn’t touch the snow, he learnt it only exemplifies the stutter and the seizures. Which is unfortunate because it helps just about everything else. </p>
<p>He isn’t too drunk when it happens; he’s only had a few, much less than seemingly everyone else. </p>
<p>Tommy is sitting at the bar, talking with John and Grace. For a moment, he thinks he can hear something, but he passes it off as nothing, or Arthur being Arthur. Then there’s another. It sounds like shouting, but far off in the distance. It comes closer. </p>
<p>It’s coming closer. </p>
<p>“C- Can you hear t- that?” he asks his brother and his girlfriend. </p>
<p>“Yeah, but don’t worry. It’s probably just some boys after trouble,” John shrugs off. </p>
<p>Then there’s a gunshot. Or two. Three. Four. They don’t stop. They keep going and the glass windows and wood to the Garrison is shattering and breaking and there’s shouting and screaming and pain and red and Tommy cannot move. </p>
<p>He’s ducked and pulled his gun out before he has a chance to think about it. He is leaning against the bar, and he looks at John, hoping he has done the same thing.</p>
<p>He has.</p>
<p>He must see the terror in Tommy’s face, because he tries to reassure him with a smile. “Don’t worry brother, no one fucks with the Peaky-” </p>
<p>Slow motion. John’s smile remains, and his eyes drop from their gaze. Only then does he truly hear the gunshot. John is in his arms. He’s in his arms and he can’t see because there’s blood in his eyes and then his eyes clear and John is in his arms. He’s in his arms and there’s blood behind his head and he’s not breathing and he’s not breathing or talking and he’s not smiling anymore. When did he stop smiling?</p>
<p>When did he stop smiling?</p>
<p>He can hear Grace. She’s crying. She’s crying. She’s crying. “Tommy!” She’s shouting. She’s shouting. She’s shouting. “Tommy, help!” She’s in pain, he can hear it in her voice. He takes a deep breath, one last look at John, and slowly pulls him off himself and to the floor. With shaking hands, he shoots at the wall without a target or knowledge as to where the shooters are. He swallows down nausea and scrambles himself around to behind the bar. </p>
<p>What he sees instantly makes him sick to the side of him. It’s full of blood, and that confuses him, why is he bleeding? She’s in front of him. Grace. She’s there but she isn’t even there anymore. There’s a bullet in her chest and blood flooding her beautiful lace cream dress. She’s not shouting his name anymore. He’s on his knees in an instant, her head in his hands. “Please, P- Please, Grace.” It’s too late. If he believed in God, he’d beg for forgiveness and beg Him to bring her back, but he doesn’t have a faith. All his faith he left in France. </p>
<p>Ada. </p>
<p>Where’s Ada? He shouts to anyone who still has ears to hear. “W- Where’s A- Ada!” His voice is shaking, despite his attempts to hold it steady. Grace’s head is still in his hands, and her eyes are open, looking as if they should be looking at him, but they aren’t looking anywhere. </p>
<p>It sounds like Freddie’s voice. “With me! She’s fine!”</p>
<p>And there it is. The shooting stops. There are no more gunshots, only occasional murmurs. After a moment of waiting, making sure they don’t continue, Tommy leans his pounding head down and leaves a bloody kiss on Grace’s forehead. She’s gone. She’s gone and nothing will bring her back. </p>
<p>She’s gone. </p>
<p>“Thomas.” There’s a hand on his shoulder and he turns around. It’s Polly. There are tears in her eyes and down her cheeks. For a moment he asks himself why she is crying. She cries more and looks like she can’t get her words out. He understands it. He understands it more than she will ever know. </p>
<p>“T- Tell me, P- Pol.”</p>
<p>“It’s bad, Thomas.” There’s a hand around his waist. Grace? No, Grace is gone. She’s gone and she’s on the cold floor and he has to go back to her and hold her hand. He tries but someone pulls him back. He looks back. Pol. There are tears in her eyes and down her cheeks. For a moment he asks himself why she is crying. </p>
<p>He’s standing still behind the bar and then he blinks and he’s sitting on a chair in the main part of the Garrison. She’s kneeling in front of him, getting his attention. He brings himself back to himself. He must have spaced out. He didn’t even notice. </p>
<p>Polly tries to keep his attention on her, but he cannot help but turn to look around the room. John is still on the floor, in front of the bar, dead still. Dead still. Dead. </p>
<p>He looks further on. Arthur and Finn are together. They were together. They’re together and they’re both lying motionless on the floor. They’re not breathing. Their chests aren’t moving. They’re together, is what he tells himself. </p>
<p>Isaiah is with his dad. They’re together and they’re both lying motionless on the floor. Jeremiah has one hand around his son’s, and one around the cross around his neck. </p>
<p>Danny’s almost on his knees, in front of him. Dead. dead. He was dead before. He can see it in a soldier’s eyes. Dead. His eyes are open, like his are before he fits, but… there’s nothing there. He’s not there anymore. </p>
<p>He opens his mouth to ask about Charlie and Curly, but his tongue has just… stopped. </p>
<p>“Curly’s fine. Charlie was shot. Curly’s taking him to the hospital now. It seemed quicker than getting an ambulance.” </p>
<p>Tommy leans his head forward and rests his head in his left hand. Polly grasps the right one. “It’ll be okay, Thomas.”</p>
<p>Lifting his head, he glances a look over at Freddie, who has Ada curled in his arms. She is balling her eyes out, screaming in grief. Tommy and Freddie’s eyes connect, and they both are an eyesore. There’s blood on Freddie, almost coating him. His hands are shaking under his grasp of Ada.</p>
<p>Tommy drops his head so it’s on his chest. It’s too heavy, he can’t hold it up anymore. He almost wishes for another seizure, to make it stop. To make it all stop. </p>
<p>Polly pulls him up so he is standing, and drags him into a hug. She presses against his side and it hurts. It hurts a lot. He must make a sound to that because he blinks and he’s back on the chair, Polly getting his attention again. She’s lifting his suit. He needs to keep it clean. He needs to keep it clean and impeccable and creaseless for his meeting with Sabini. Sabini.</p>
<p>Sabini. </p>
<p>“Jesus, Thomas. You should have told me.” Pol is looking at his side, so he looks too. There’s blood pouring out like before a plug was holding his whole body together. </p>
<p>He can hear Freddie shushing Ada before standing up and footsteps are coming closer until Polly is holding Tommy’s hand and Freddie is in front of him. </p>
<p>“Breathe, this is going to hurt.” From the looks on Polly and Freddie’s faces, he should be in pain, a lot of pain. But he cannot feel anything but utter heartbreak. The worst form of pain no gunshot can outpour. </p>
<p>Then, there’s a slight noise and Tommy jumps, but as he turns he sees it was just the bullet being slammed by Freddie on the table behind him. </p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Tom.”</p>
<p>It’s the last thing he hears before he blacks out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so sorry... and I know it's bad that this has been my favourite chapter to write as well. Look out for the next chapter to see how things go</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The aftermath...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Tommy wakes up again, it takes him a moment to adjust to his surroundings. For a moment, a peaceful moment, he forgets. He forgets what happened, forgets how the world has to destroy every last moment of happiness. </p><p>He’s on wood. When he opens his eyes, there’s a wooden ceiling above him. There’s a weight on his hand. What’s he doing here? Why is he on the-</p><p>Oh God, oh God, oh fucking God, fuck, fuck, fuck. </p><p>John’s smile</p><p>Arthur and Finn together</p><p>Grace screaming at him, screaming his name</p><p>Ada, Ada in Freddie’s arms</p><p>Jeremiah and Isiah, together. The cross</p><p>Polly. There are tears in her eyes and down her cheeks. For a moment he asks himself why she is crying. </p><p>Charlie in the hospital, Curly</p><p>Dead.</p><p>Dead. They’re dead. </p><p>He doesn’t realise he isn’t breathing until there’s a voice. “Thomas, breathe. Breathe with me, okay.” Grace, Grace is talking to him. Telling him to breathe. </p><p>He opens his eyes but he can’t remember closing them. Polly’s in front of his face. There are tears in her eyes and down her cheeks. For a moment he asks himself why she is crying. </p><p>“Breathe, Thomas.” It’s her. It’s not Grace. It’s not Grace. </p><p>It’s not Grace.</p><p>Grace screaming his name, in pain. In so much pain because of him. Because of him; it’s his fault she’s gone, she’s dead. </p><p>“Thomas, you have to breathe or you’ll pass out.”</p><p>Have to breathe, has to breathe. Breathe, Tommy, breathe. </p><p>He breathes, and he’s never been more aware of his breathing. It’s shallow, but it’s there. </p><p>He blinks and when he opens his eyes, he’s back on the chair of the Garrison. Polly is trying to get his attention. There are tears in her eyes and down her cheeks. For a moment he asks himself why she is crying. </p><p>Freddie’s in front of him. Ada in his arms. Ada, where’s Ada? He looks over by the door, where she was a moment ago. Nothing. Where’s Ada? He looks back at Freddie. He left her. He let her die. How dare he kill his sister. </p><p>“Ada’s fine, Thomas. She’s gone to the bathroom to clean up,” Polly clarifies, trying to put on a smile. </p><p>“We need to get some bandages, Tom. You were shot.” What? Shot? He looks down. Oh, they’re right. He’s been shot. </p><p>Something’s on his face and he’s looking back up. Polly. There are tears in her eyes and down her cheeks. For a moment he asks himself why she is crying. </p><p>“Tommy.” It’s Freddie’s voice. He thinks back to that day in the tunnels, Freddie calling his name. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”</p><p>There are times in life where you have to suck it up. He needs to be okay for Ada. to make sure Ada is okay. Ada and Charlie and Polly, they have to be okay. He has to make sure they are okay. </p><p>He forces his breathing to level out, and stands up. He goes a little lightheaded but pushes past it. From his blazer pocket he pulls his notebook, the one he uses when there are no other options for talking. <em>What hospital is Charlie at?</em></p><p>“First Southern General Hospital, but Thomas, you have to rest. What you saw-” Polly doesn’t understand, but she understands enough to shut her mouth before she says any more. Tommy has seen a lot. He saw a lot in the war, he saw a lot just now. </p><p>One foot in front of the other, that’s what Tommy told himself to do. Fortunately, his body followed the instructions. </p><p>Polly follows Tommy to his car, but stops him before he can get into the driver’s seat. “I’m not letting you drive, Thomas.” She sounds deadly serious. There are tears in her eyes and down her cheeks. For a moment he asks himself why he is crying.</p><p>Reluctantly, he allows her into the driver’s seat and walks slowly to the other side. He thinks about asking what actually happened to Charlie, but his mouth won’t open and his tongue won’t move like he wants it to. Polly clarifies it for him. “He was shot. Curly reckons in the lung; thinks it’s collapsed. He’ll be okay, Thomas. I know of it.”</p><p>They sit in silence for a while while she drives. Tommy blinks and the car has stopped. The passenger door is open beside him and Polly is getting his attention from next to him. There are tears in her eyes and down her cheeks. For a moment he asks himself why she is crying. </p><p>She takes his hand and gently pulls him from the car and into a standing position. While he is grateful for the help in getting up, he cannot be considered a baby. He pushes her off and is surprised when she lets him hold himself. That is until he stumbled on the first step slightly, and she reaffirms her grip on him, tighter this time. She is stood to the left of him, right hand around his waist to hold him up, and left holding his wrist to steady him. He doesn’t stop her. </p><p>They walk into the hospital and Pol asks to see Charlie. Visiting hours are over but she gives the receptionist some money and a threat, and it works. </p><p>He blinks and they are in front of a door. Polly is getting his attention. There are tears in her eyes and down her cheeks. For a moment he asks himself why she is crying. </p><p>“The doctor said he’s not in a good way, Thomas. He’s on a ventilator and they’re seeing if he’s responding to stimuli.” Tommy doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know if he can. “I told Ada and Freddie to call Moss and tell him what happened. They’re going to call for some men and then come here.” Tommy doesn’t reply. He cannot reply. “It’ll be okay, Thomas. We’ll figure it out.”</p><p>What has she got? A time machine? Go back and stop him from threatening Sabini? Go back and shoot Sabini between the eyes so he cannot give the order, or for killing his family?</p><p>What’s she going to do? Use some fucking gypsy witchcraft to bring them back to life?</p><p>Polly opens the door. He blinks and he’s sat on a chair next to a hospital bed. He looks up and Polly is stood on the other side of his uncle. </p><p>They are silent for a long time, while Tommy is thinking about all the many ways he can destroy Sabini from the inside out. </p><p>There’s a knock at the door and Ada and Freddie are standing in front of the bed. Ada’s face is red and Tommy assumes she’s been crying. Freddie has taken his hat off and is holding it in front of him respectfully. </p><p>Tommy realises he isn’t wearing his cap anymore. He wonders where it went. Perhaps Grace has it. He blinks and there is someone in front of him; someone he doesn’t recognise. A nurse; he assumes. She’s leaning down and he sees she is bandaging him. He isn’t wearing his shirt or waistcoat or blazer or coat anymore. When did that happen?</p><p>He looks up at Polly. She has a sympathetic smile on her face, but he can see the worry past it. There are tears in her eyes and down her cheeks. For a moment he asks himself why. He blinks and the nurse is gone. </p><p>“The nurse says she recognises you from France. ‘The boy who lost his voice’, she said. She’s the nurse who treated you.” Polly sounds like she is trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work.</p><p>“Do you recognise her?” His body is hardly following his instructions, but he manages a nod. </p><p>And here they are, watching Uncle Charlie slip away from their fingers. “You know who did it?” Freddie finally asks. Tommy nods. “You got a plan?” Tommy nods again. Freddie nods in return. He’s holding Ada’s hand, Tommy notices. When he looks closer, he notices how Freddie squeezes her hand frequently to remind her he’s still there. </p><p>Ada appears to be spacing out, too. The brain does that sometimes, he finds. To help with the pain. The trauma. It works, a little. Every time he comes back, there’s a fraction of a section where he forgets. </p><p>They all sit for a long time, waiting. Waiting for something to happen, waiting for Charlie to wake up. Waiting to wake up from this nightmare. </p><p>Wake up. </p><p>Wake up. </p><p>Wake up, please. He’ll wake up and go straight to murder Sabini and all his men so that this can’t happen. </p><p>Apparently he’s been murmuring this out loud, because he blinks and Polly is in front of him, getting his attention. </p><p>She’s not crying anymore. </p><p>He thinks she’s doing it to seem brave. He can see past her. She’s as much grieving as much as he is.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy continues to deal with the grief, and starts to think about what to do with Sabini</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy doesn’t leave Charlie’s side for two days. He’s thinking; thinking about how much pain he can inflict on Sabini without letting him die. He cannot die until he’s finished with him. </p><p>He’s been writing it down in his small pocket notebook, now coated in blood around the edges. Calculations, plans, anything. It isn’t about business anymore. He killed his family and he has to pay.</p><p>“Get me to a phone,” are his first words. It turns out his voice works on the third day, working and for just a second he forgets he never could. Polly looks up from her paper in shock. She worried he’d never talk again. </p><p>“Who do you need to talk to?” He doesn’t answer. She guesses he’s gone back to being quiet. “I’m taking you home, Thomas. You can sleep and then you can go to the shop and speak to whoever it is.” She needs to get him out of here, she needs to get him to sleep. To her surprise, he doesn’t refuse, but stands up and leaves. </p><p>Tommy is almost annoyed when Polly follows him, as if he didn’t hear her when she said she’d drive him. She wonders whether he did. She stops him from getting in the driver’s seat. “You’re in shock, Thomas. No state to drive. I’m not letting you.” </p><p>When they arrive home, Tommy makes sure his gun is loaded before he steps out. The betting shop is full, as usual. As soon as he walks in, people are swarming him with condolences. He brushes past them and walks into his office, calling Alfie. He picks up the phone after two and a half rings. </p><p>“Yeah, who?” Alfie says after a moment of silence. He waits another five seconds or so. “If you don’t answer I’m going to hang up.” </p><p>Tommy clears his throat. “Tommy. Birmingham, now.” He says it in the most serious voice he can.</p><p>“Noise travels fast around here, Tommy. I’m at the Midland. I’ll be down soon. Where’d you need me?” </p><p>Tommy takes a deep breath. “Charlie’s.”</p><p>“Okay, Tom. You wait there, get a couple lads to watch you. I’ll be down soon as I can.” Alfie hangs up the phone. </p><p>Tommy shuts his eyes in utter exhaustion, planting his head between his hands. He has spent three days trying to make sense of what happened. But he still sits and waits for them to walk through the door. Unsurprisingly, they do not. </p><p>He must have dozed off but soon wakes up, knowing he cannot sleep until this is done and dealt with. Until Sabini is no longer wasting air on the Earth, he cannot rest. </p><p>It’s empty when he reaches Charlie’s yard. He wonders if he can still sleep here while he isn’t there. He wonders if his uncle will ever come back. He doubts it. The way he saw him, the number of tubes coming from him weren’t good. He scoffs when he sees himself, shot, brain damaged, shell-shocked. Like all the others. </p><p>He finds Alfie, who has a solemn look on his face like he’s trying to be sympathetic. He’s already there when Tommy arrives. He joins him at some abandoned table and chairs in the middle of the yard. </p><p>“Alright, Tom?” Tommy just nods. “I’m guessing my original plan for Sabini is starting to sound more appealing to you, am I right.” Tommy scoffs and nods. </p><p>“Find him. Alive. Bring him to me.” Tommy stands up to go upstairs to his bedroom. Alfie stops him. “Not very talkative today, are we? I’m sorry, Tommy. Truly, I am.” Tommy keeps walking after a moment of hesitation. He keeps walking until he reaches the stables. He climbs onto Monaghan Boy, riding him through Small Heath. Into the outskirts, away from all the sympathetic strangers. He needs to get away. He needs to think. </p><p>Tommy lights a fire with his cigarette lighter in the field. He’s alone. He heard laudanum takes away the pain, but he doubts it very much. </p><p>If he had faith, he’d pray. </p><p>If he had a boss, he'd beg for forgiveness. </p><p>If he had a child, he’d be willing to distract himself. </p><p>Now this is the problem with being dead already. You do not love, you do not trust or encapsulate or reveal. You have no one to beg for forgiveness. No one to pray to. No one to distract himself with. </p><p>Tommy isolates himself from everyone and everything to protect them, but the blame and pain still falls, making him his own greatest weakness, failure, hamartia. </p><p>Who does he battle if he cannot win against himself? Who can he trust when all the people he trusted before are dead? Because of him. </p><p>His failures. His mistakes brought him here. He deserves this. </p><p>He doesn’t know just how long he sits on the floor, watching flames bounce up and down, down and up, across, left right, right left. </p><p>His mind drifts, his thoughts shift to their faces. John, Grace, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Danny, Finn, Arthur. Their faces of pain and soullessness. Empty. Eyes still open but empty in ways he cannot erase from his mind, his thoughts, his brain. Every fibre of his being swarmed with images or their faces, constantly, consistently and indefinitely. </p><p>There’s a hand on his shoulder. He turns and Pol’s face catches his eye. She isn’t crying anymore, he notices. Her mouth is moving but he cannot tell what she is saying. He blinks and the fire is out. It is dark but the cigarettes in their mouths make it so he can see Polly’s face. He’s on his feet and he’s walking. </p><p>Tommy blinks and he’s in Polly’s car. They are driving. He knows this because the scene has changed around him. They aren’t in the outskirts anymore; they’re going through the streets of Birmingham. </p><p>He’s thinking foggily and then he’s snapped out of his thoughts. “Thomas!” It makes him jump because he couldn’t hear her before, but he doesn’t flinch because that shows fear. He turns and Polly’s there. She’s stopped driving, it looks like because the car isn’t moving anymore. </p><p>“Where’s the horse?” It seems a strange thing for him to ask, but he asks nonetheless. </p><p>“Freddie has him.” </p><p>“Freddie?” </p><p>“He was there, Thomas. Just a moment ago in the field. Jesus, maybe you really have lost it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dealing with the aftermath</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They arrive back in Small Heath, and Polly guides Tommy into the house, up the stairs and into his bedroom. She drops him so he sits on the bed and pulls his legs around so he is lying down. If he had more energy or words he’d tell her to piss off, he’s not a baby, but he just cannot. </p><p>Tommy can’t sleep. He cannot sleep because images of his dead family bounce around his vision, and they get worse when he closes his eyes. </p><p>Tommy cannot sleep because he killed his family. </p><p>He killed his family. </p><p>Perhaps not directly. Perhaps not by his own hand, but it was him holding the puppets. He dropped Sabini’s puppet without seeing that it would onto that of his family. </p><p>If he could just get that part of his brain out; the bit that feels like wet mud and sand swimming around his brain. Maybe then he’d be okay and he’d wake up from this sick nightmare. He reaches his hand up and scratches until it draws blood and he digs and digs because he needs to get it out and-</p><p>There is a hand on his hand, pulling it away. They don’t understand. They don’t fucking understand. They’re strong hands and they pull him down until he feels them against the pillow, either side of his head, also against the pillow. His eyes are squeezed closed and he guesses the person is above him, holding him down, so he waits a moment, before managing to peel his eyes open again.</p><p>Moustache and beard. Hat. Eyes. </p><p>Freddie. </p><p>Freddie fucking Thorne. </p><p>What the fuck is he doing here? </p><p>“And we’re down in the BSA thinking you’re back on your rocker,” Freddie scoffs and almost smiles. “I guess the rumours are wrong, Thomas.”</p><p>“Well,” Tommy says and clears his throat. “Lies travel faster than the truth.” Freddie nods in understanding. </p><p>“What the fuck are you doing, Tom?” Freddie’s sad. He can see it in his eyes. He can see that, at least. </p><p>“D- Don’t look at me like that.” He starts to rebuild his wall after days of his guard being down. He needs to, for the business. For Ada. </p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Sympathy.”</p><p>“So now I’m not allowed to feel sympathy for you? After what happened?” His grip on Tommy’s wrists are starting to slack. </p><p>“No, Freddie. I don’t need your pity.”</p><p>“You know, Tom.” Freddie lets go of Tommy’s wrists entirely, so Tom stands up, moving across to the other side of his room. “I’ve started going to meetings with the communists. Me and Jessie will soon be above even you. Perhaps you could join us, get this mud out of your head, for good. King of Birmingham, might shed more light on the oppressed people.”</p><p>Tommy scoffs. “Didn’t know you were interested in that fantasy, Freddie.”</p><p>“You were, Tommy. In the tunnels you said “We’re all supposed to be equal, Danny. Not me above you or you above me.” You were a communist, Tom. What are you now?”</p><p>“Pragmatic.”</p><p>“You used to say that you’d have your own revolution one day. “I’ll buy two hundred thousand horses and give one to every man, woman and child in Birmingham so it’s not just the cavalry what have one. I guess you said a lot of things in France you didn’t mean.”</p><p>“Things changed.”</p><p>“What changed?” </p><p>“We came back.”</p><p>“You sure you’re back, Tommy? From what I saw-”</p><p>“Don’t look down on me, Freddie. You come here with your revolutionary ideas. You’re a dreamer; you’re always going to be after more than what you’ve got. I’m sorry for being realistic, but when you go down, you’ll bring my sister down with you.”</p><p>“I love Ada; don’t you-”</p><p>“You need her because she’s a Shelby. You see her and you see the money, the fame, the reputation. What happens if she gets ill and expensive. Or when she gets pregnant and you decide not to stick around, because it’s not worth it? When you decide she’s not enough, or too much? Or when you can’t stand to be even associated with the Peaky Blinders anymore? I’m not going to pick up the pieces. Fuck you, Freddie. I’m not letting you hurt my sister. Get out of my house, and get away from Ada.” </p><p>He points to the door. To his surprise, Freddie does in fact stand up and walk towards the door. He stops just in the doorway. “You need fucking help, Tom. What I saw when I walked in…” he trails off. He cannot finish, cannot comprehend the scene he walked in on. He knows Tommy understands what he means, so he turns and leaves. </p><p>Tommy takes a long, deep breath, before returning to sit on the end of the bed. Takes another deep breath. Reaches under his bed and pulls out the long abandoned opium pipe. With shaking hands, he sets it up almost on muscle memory.</p><p>He takes a long drag.</p><p>He knows he isn’t supposed to use it with his medicine for the seizures. The doctor said not to and Polly gave him a forlorn look that he’d been using it. </p><p>The medicine. </p><p>He hasn’t taken it in days. Not since the morning of… </p><p>He hasn’t taken it in days. </p><p>Not good. Very much not good. </p><p>It’s only when he’s thinking about the medicine that he notices it. </p><p>Every other sense apart from his sight (even that is curling around the edges) and his taste is falling, and his mouth tastes metallic and-</p><p>He needs to get downstairs. He’s sleep deprived and dehydrated, meaning this could be very bad. </p><p>He needs to get downstairs. </p><p>He leans heavily on the walls as he stumbles down the stairs. He feels sick, sick to his bones. </p><p>He needs to get downstairs. </p><p>He blinks and he’s in the kitchen. Again? How can that keep happening, losing time. He stops. He cannot move anymore. There’s hands on him and faces around him and then he falls under.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter Thirteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy comes to in the ambulance, Ada grasping his hand tightly. “Thank Ch- you’re okay, Tom. you’re gonna be okay. We’re almost at the hospital.” Ada seems worried. </p><p>“W… W-'' Tommy stops himself out of pure exhaustion. </p><p>She understands what he is trying to say. “Freddie left pretty angry, so well done, by the way. A few minutes later, you stumbled downstairs half out of it. Then you collapsed and had a seizure. Not fucking surprising seeing as you haven’t slept in days. When was the last time you had your tablets?”</p><p>He thinks about it, really does think about it, but the more he thinks, the more he realises he has no idea. Could’ve been yesterday, could’ve been a week ago, could’ve been a year ago, for all he knows. </p><p>He can feel his eyes slipping shut, and he lets them close like curtains in the sunlight. “No, no Tom, stay awake for me.” Ada’s slapping his face gently. “I know it’s hard but please, stay awake.”</p><p>Need to stay awake. Need to stay awake. Need to st…</p><p> </p><p>Tommy wakes back up in the hospital, in what appears to be a recovery ward. Private, Polly must have paid extra, or blackmailed. Ada’s holding his hand, to his right. He glances briefly but cannot see Polly. He makes a mental note to ask Ada in a moment, when he can move his hands enough to sign or write. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he cannot concentrate enough to make it move. </p><p>His face twitches and he struggles to keep his eyes open. “Hey, Tommy.” Ada’s voice wavers; she’s been crying, he can tell. Her face looks blurred as his eyes are only half open, but he could hear her voice shake with worry. “How’re you feeling?” Her voice anchors him, keeps him on the surface of consciousness. </p><p>“Mm… Mwa?” is all the sound he can produce. “-o ol.” He can’t seem to make the ‘p’ sound to ask about Polly, so just hopes to God that she understands him. </p><p>“Polly?”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“She’s talking to the doctors. You’ll be okay, Tom. They don’t think anything’s too wrong.” He takes a deep breath. “Just a precaution.”</p><p>“S- S… b. N- n... “ His tongue is heavy in his mouth and he cannot make a single word form together. </p><p>“Sabini? Did he do it?” He just manages a nod. “Fuck, you sure?” Nods again, just about, enough to make it noticeable. A wave of nausea overcomes him and he has to open his mouth and take a deep breath to push past it. It’ll come back in a moment, he’s sure, but he needs to think. Doesn’t have time for being sick, not now. </p><p> </p><p>Later on, when he’s finally discharged from the hospital, he calls Maggie to find that Alfie has called. Thomas dutifully thanks her and calls Alfie from the Birmingham office. He stands up because sitting down could end in sleeping, and he doesn’t have time to sleep, not now.</p><p>“A- Alfie. M- Ma- Maggie said you c-” The word is gone, and he’s surprised he made it this far if he’s completely honest. He groans in anger, not bothering to finish the sentence. Surely Alfie knows what he means. </p><p>“Called?” Tommy hums as an acknowledgment in response. “Yeah, I wanted to be the one to tell you that I found that little friend of ours.”</p><p>“W- Where?” He swallows and his mouth makes a strange noise when it does. </p><p>“Ah, just one of the ware’ouses, mate. I ain’t hurt him, thought I’d leave ‘im to you. I’ve sent Olly to come get you, heard you were in ‘ospital. Thought it would be a little anticlimactic if you crashed your car and never got to kill ‘im. See you in a bit, mate.”</p><p>“Y- You g- go- be there?”</p><p>“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it for the world, mate. You’ve got yourself a reputation, would hate to miss out on seeing it. I will see you soon, Tommy. Look after yourself.” Tommy hangs up the phone and swallows bile to the back of his throat. </p><p>He sits at his desk for God knows how long, only half alive, exhausted from the fit, exhausted in a way he didn’t think he could be, but he doesn’t sleep. No matter how close to shutting his eyes he gets, no matter how far lidded they are that they could pass for being closed, they only do so a few times, and he finds himself reopening them almost as quickly as they close. </p><p>Finally, there’s a knock on his office door and after a moment, it opens. “Olly?” </p><p>“Mr Shelby, Mr Solomons sent me to collect you.” Tommy nods but doesn’t make any indication that he means to move anywhere. “I’m very sorry, Mr Shelby, about your loss.”</p><p>“‘s fine, Olly. Not your fault, is it?” Olly hums and loiters awkwardly just beyond the door. </p><p>“Forgive me for saying sir, but you look very tired. Do you want me to come later?”</p><p>“Not your job.” Finally, Tommy finds the strength in himself to stand up, and he’s surprised when he doesn’t keel over immediately, but a surprise he is grateful for.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter One, Take Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So... this is a rewrite of the first chapter because it wasn't realistic in terms of time constraints. Just imagine this being the first chapter. I think it pretty much covers it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1916 - La Boisselle - The Somme</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The last thing Tommy remembers before the tunnel collapses is the sound of one of the younger lads, Smith, shouting for his mother. It’s the last thing he ever shouted and will be the last thing on Tommy’s mind the day he, too, dies. When he wakes up, there’s mud surrounding him. He can’t breathe and he finds himself with the most bone-crushing headache anyone’s had the misfortune of experiencing. He can’t breathe because the air around him is thin, but frighteningly dense at the same time. He digs his hands against the wall of mud in front of him until it clears into a slightly larger hole around him. When he reaches a clearing, no wider than a few meters, hearing the breath of two other people, he allows himself to drop to the floor, clutching his head. </p>
<p><em>Thank fuck</em> Freddie thinks when he sees Tommy break through into his and Danny’s lminiature tunnel. That’s his first thought, anyway, because the second one is his noticing of the blood. So much blood around his head. Down his face and around his hair, and now beginning to pool around his head where he dropped onto the ground. “Oh, fuck.” He whispers and Danny hums in agreement. </p>
<p>Just as they are about to move to do something, Tommy begins convulsing. His whole body moving in rhythmic shakes, up and down and back and forth, over and over again. At first they think he has the shakes, but it keeps going. Fuck, they need to get him out. Far away from here, far away from France and all things close. Back to the shithole that is Birmingham. </p>
<p>When Tommy comes back to, it is only to be greeted by not only the same ever worsening headache, but the aching of muscles from whatever he assumes happened while he blacked out. He feels someone pull him into a sitting position, sending sparks of pain through his head and behind his eyes. He’s pushed against a wall of dirt and his head drops onto his chest because he has no energy to try to lift it up. Hands gently touch his cheeks and lift his head up. His vision is strange and he is seeing in double, but he can make out Freddie and Danny. Despite how much it pains him Tommy moves his eyes around a little to see if there is anyone else. No. Just the three of them. </p>
<p>“Tommy? Tommy, what’s going on? What happened? Tell me what happened.” Freddie’s voice, loud and slow, trying to enunciate as much as possible… as much as possible past his Brummie accent. He tries to talk, to reply, but nothing comes out past a strangled groan, pain lacing it. “Tommy, can you hear me?” Tommy manages something that could be considered a yes, an affirmative, or just something as a reply. “Good, right. Can you not talk?” Tommy repeats said sound with a more negative tone to it, hopeful that Freddie will understand. “Right, okay. Okay, that’s fine. Danny’s- Danny’s just trying to get us out. We’ll be fine. You’re gonna be fine.” It sounds like Freddie is trying to reassure himself more than Tommy. “Tom, we gotta move, okay? Lean on me yeah? You- You know what? Get on my back, arms around my shoulder, head over one of them. I’ll pull you. It might be easier.” Tommy tries his best to follow the instructions Freddie just gave him, but his friend does the majority of the heavy lifting. </p>
<p>Once they catch up with Danny, a few meters ahead, Freddie backs Tommy back onto leaning onto the wall of the tunnel, crouching in front of him. “You think you can stay alive for a little while whilst I help Danny?” Tommy hums. “Great, don’t shut your eyes, try and stop your left one from drooping ‘cause that’s what it’s doing and it’s kind of freaking me out. They’re kind of crossing as well, so… umm… try to stop that.” Tommy would, but that’s the last thing on his mind, far after keeping his heart beating and eyes open at all. There’s rustling and then Freddie isn’t wearing his shirt anymore, instead holding it in his hand, holding it out to him. “Hold this against your head, yeah? It’s bleeding.” Tommy does as he’s told, and Freddie soon disappears. </p>
<p>He doesn’t know how long later he is shaken awake by strong hands. When he peels his eyes open, both Freddie and Danny are kneeling in front of him. “Hey, what did I tell you about staying awake, eh? Danny thinks we’re nearly there, a few more hours or so.” Hours? How long have they been here? Tommy doesn’t know. He’s lost all concepts of time. “Right, now we’re going childish here, where does it hurt? Point… unless you’ve suddenly regained the ability to talk.” Tommy slowly lifts his hand up, the one that isn’t securely on the damaged side of his head, at the point of the wound, and points it at the other side of his head, dignifying it being around halfway back. He then points behind his eye, on the damaged side. “Right, middle of your head, and behind your eye. Okay, got it. Right, you’re gonna have to do some charades or something if you want to get anything more across.” Tommy reaches his hand out, twirling it around, trying to point out that his head is spinning, before dropping his hand into a horizontal position to describe passing out. “Right, dizzy. Good imagination.” They both scoff despite the grave situation they are in. “Anything else?” He sloppily points to his eyes and then at the world around them. “Sight? Trouble seeing?” Tommy hums. “Right, well. I won’t lie to you. Things aren’t looking amazing. You know that? You know that. We’re going to get out of here, okay? We will.” Tommy digs his free hand into the dirt beneath them, spelling out the words <em>s-m-i-t-h</em>. He doesn’t know where he is. Where is he? “I- We haven’t seen anyone… I don’t… I think we’re the only ones.” Tommy takes a deep breath, or at least tries to. It’s blocked by an unavoidable sob that he will one day name a hiccup. Freddie knows, and he finds himself unable to tell him otherwise, unable to clear his name. </p>
<p>“AIR!” They both hear Danny shout from not too far ahead of them. Tommy retakes his position on Freddie’s back and is slowly, ever so slowly, dragged from the tunnel. Slowly, very slowly, light comes into view, growing larger and larger until they are outside. There are people there, one or two medics, and some soldiers. The medics are holding a stretcher. A few of the soldiers help to get Tommy onto it. His arms hang limp over the sides. </p>
<p>“Can you two walk?” One of the soldiers asks. </p>
<p>“Y- Yes, we’re fine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Major tunnel collapse, you’re going to want to see a doctor.” Freddie and Danny both nod.</p>
<p>“He takes priority. His brain’s falling apart.” </p>
<p>One of the medic finds it in himself to smile. “What are his symptoms?”</p>
<p>“He can’t talk, but he was showing me… headache, in the middle of his head and behind his eyes. He said… dizzy. He had some sort of… fit. We thought he had the shakes but it kept going for longer than it should. He’s having trouble seeing and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. I don’t know if it’s important but his eyes were drooping, and not in a tired kind of way. His eyes went all crossed at some points, and I think he’s seeing double.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, soldier. We’ll take it from here. Follow us to the hospital,” one of the medics begins. He then looks to the other medic. “I don’t know how much time we have. Major brain injury. We need to get him to the tent until he’s stable enough to move to somewhere permanent.” </p>
<p>Tommy’s vision is curling around the edges, and from the sheer levels of pain and lack of sight, he doesn’t know how much longer it’s going to last, how long he’s going to remain conscious. Finally, his eyes roll back and he can’t see anything anymore. </p>
<p>The medics look worried as Tommy falls unconscious, quickly ordering the soldiers to make sure Freddie and Danny don’t suddenly keel over, and beginning to run with the stretcher in hand. Luckily, the field hospital isn’t too far from where they are. The ‘field hospital’ is a tent behind some trees. While Danny and Freddie are taken to one room, where everyone else seems to be, Tommy is rushed away to surgery without another word. They give Tommy a trepanation, to relieve the pressure on his brain. It works, but it’s touch and go for the first ten hours. He’s under constant watch to make sure he doesn’t flatline. </p>
<p>Freddie and Danny are perfectly okay, just a few deeper cuts that are bandaged. Just before they are sent on their merry way, they sit at Tommy’s bedside. “I’ve sent a letter to Arthur and John. It might have been pointless to send them both; they could be sitting right next to each other, or they could be in different countries. It’s hard to tell, these days. You know how it is. I sent a letter to your aunt and Ada, but you’ll probably be home and better by the time they get that.” Freddie has tears in his eyes. Tommy’s lips look so dry they must crumble under the mask [I don’t know if they had oxygen masks, I tried to google it but couldn’t find anything, so I’m just going to go with it]. “You get better, yeah? I’d have your aunt kill me if I let you die.” He chuckles. “It’ll be okay, Tommy. Everything will be okay.”</p>
<p>Two days later, John comes to visit. He isn’t too far away, it turns out. It turns out they’ve sent all the men they can to the Somme. It’s a total shit show. He’s crying by the time he gets to Tommy’s side. “Oh god, Tom. I told you not to do this. I told you not to bloody volunteer. It’ll be fine. Arthur’s beside himself. He’s on leave for a few days next week, so he should be able to come to see you. I think you owe Freddie and Danny your life, now. They really did save yours. They were sending rescue teams, but they said they’re surprised you made it out alive as you did, let alone be able to wait for someone to find you. Polly and Ada might not have gotten the letter, or they at least haven’t replied. It seems strange to say but you’re one of the lucky ones, eh? You’re gonna get to go home. Hopefully we won’t be too far after you. Who knows, eh?” John leans forward and takes Tommy’s hand in his. “You wake up, and you get better and you go home, okay?”</p>
<p>Arthur comes not too long after, tears streaming down his face still. He sits down next to his brother and takes his hand in his. “Hey, Tom. how fucked up is this, eh? You be okay, okay? Be okay…” Still, Tommy does not move, does not rouse. You could probably convince some of the fim whitted soldiers that he is dead. </p>
<p>In fact, he doesn’t wake up until about a week later, long after Arthur and John were told to move on. Even longer after Freddie and Danny were pronounced fit to leave and sent back to the front lines. The nurses and doctors are beginning to lose hope that he will wake up at all when his eyes slowly, every so slowly flicker open. Two nurses and a doctor instantly rush to his side, adjusting him into a better position to reduce the pain. Tommy groans and doesn’t stop until one of the nurses leaves and returns with morphine. Then he doesn’t stop until it kicks in, then swipes with floppy arms at his face, trying to pull away at the oxygen. His breathing seems fairly okay considering so they remove it, knowing it’s now doing more harm that good with him being confused and exhausted. </p>
<p>Tommy hasn’t a clue what is going on. The world around him is blurry and he blinks multiple times to clear it. It only works a little. “Sergeant Major! Sir, you’re okay. Can you hear me?” Tommy hums, throat too dry to speak. “Get some rest, okay? Later we’ll test to see how progressive the brain damage is.” Brain damage? Fuck, Tommy thinks. He’s never had a formal education but he knows for a fact that brain damage is bad. “I’ll send someone to inform your brothers of your condition, and they can write a letter to your family. They might be granted a few days away to comfort you, but don’t hold your breath on that.” The nurse smiles and walks away. The other one remains, placing a glass of water precariously on the bed and gently lifting Tommy’s bed into a sitting position, or at least closer to sitting than the entirely horizontal it was before. She picks back up the glass of water and holds it up to Tommy’s mouth. </p>
<p>“You’re all disoriented so I’ll help you. Your friend, Private Thorne, told me to be careful with you, very violent, so I’m just warning you.” Tommy scoffs at Freddie’s comment, imagining he himself saying it with his Brummie accent thickly coating the message. The nurse gently helps Tommy take small sips from the glass before he begins to cough, so she pulls it away. She politely recommends he rests for a while before they ask him some questions. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Broca’s aphasia. </p>
<p>Damage to the Broca’s area of his brain affecting creating and comprehending speech. Could mean he might never talk again. </p>
<p>Fuck. </p>
<p>Tommy shuts down for some hours, nurses worried there’s a medical reason for him seemingly sleeping with his eyes open. But no, the doctors confirm. Perhaps it’s shellshock, but most likely, he’s just processing it. </p>
<p>They ask him to write down his answers and symptoms, which thank god, he can. He is told they will find his brothers and bring them to him (he finds it a strange request which they never normally do; taking soldiers away from the line to do nothing, but he’s a special case, he realises.). They tell him he’s still not out of the woods, and that’s why they’re rushing his brothers here. He could develop an infection and that would likely be the end of him. [unimportant note: penicillin (first antibiotic) isn’t developed until 1928 and isn’t made widespread until the 1940s in WW2, so they definitely wouldn’t have had it in 1916. There are remedies and stuff but nothing that would really be used on the battlefield or anything widespread, more family theories and herbal stuff.] </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The following day, John comes to visit, but Tommy is asleep when he does so. Arthur comes the same day, not too long after, and Tommy is awake, but only half lucid. His hands are shaking and Arthur thinks it’s because he thinks he’s responsible for the whole fucking company dead. All but three soldiers. </p>
<p>“Um… Freddie told me what happened before you got here. Getting out an’ all. The nurses… they told me what’s… what’s wrong with you. They’re definitely sending you home as soon as you’re well enough to be sent home. John’s hysterical, frankly so am I. I hope they’ve got the letter back home but I doubt it. You’ll probably beat the letter, the way the mail’s going at the moment. You’ve got me and John a few days off, so thanks for that.” Arthur chuckles, and Tommy would if he had the energy. “It’s going to be strange, but we’ll figure it out. You’ve probably got a while at home before we join you, so you’ve got plenty of time. It’s going to be okay.” Arthur smiles, trying to reassure himself. “Oh, and Freddie and Danny aren’t too far so when they are taken off the front I think they’re going to come see you. Jeremiah’s doing well, and so’s Barney, if you were wondering. Barney’s having troubles… well, you saw, didn’t you. He’s not put a bullet in his mouth yet, if that counts as doing well.”</p>
<p>After a minute of silence, Tommy microscopically clenches his hand in Arthur’s. “Thanks, Tom. They weren’t sure if you were understanding what they’re saying. Troubles that come with the troubles, an’ all. Just… squeeze again if you can hear me, properly.” Tommy’s fingers curl around Arthur’s and tighten slightly. “Good, that’s really good.” Tommy can’t help but feel a twinge of anger. Arthur’s talking to him like he’s a child and he can’t handle that. After a moment of taking a deep breath, Tommy lets go of Arthur’s hand and slowly points away from him with a weak and limp hand. “W- You want me to go?” Tommy nods as much as is possible. “I- Why?” Tommy scoffs, having been asked an open question. “Sorry… I- I just… I’ll go, if that’s what you want. Take care of yourself. I’ll come when I can.” The corner of Tom’s mouth curls up slightly in affirmation. Arthur smiles sympathetically, eyebrows furrowed in worry, and leaves. </p>
<p>Nurses come around, some with morphine, some with water, some with soup, some just for company. Tommy’s lost a concept of time and what it means, doesn’t know how long he’s been here or how much longer he will be here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>About four weeks later, one of the doctors clears him fit enough to be moved back to England. The journey is painful and tedious, a nurse or two following him there, doctors and nurses meeting him at the other side. They take him straight to the nearest hospital in an ambulance, pumping him full of enough morphine to drown a horse. He’s in a real hospital now, one that isn’t full of screaming soldiers covered from head to toe in blood, and not just their own. Tommy thinks he’s still got blood in places that they haven’t reached yet. They must have cleaned his face at some point, and they had to shave part of his head to get to his skull, so there’s part of his head not matted with blood. However, he assumes it seemed an unnecessary risk to jostle him about in the process of a full body clean. He’s still wearing the same clothes from that night. If anything, more layers have been added. He’s lost full stones of weight from lack of eating, so he’s often cold. </p>
<p>Two days in at this new hospital in London, Tommy hears the clicking of two pairs of heels and the running of tiny feet as his family enters his private room. He hasn’t seen them at all in so long that both Finn and Ada have grown exponentially. They are all wearing smiles on their faces, but Tommy sees their horror despite their attempts to hide it. They all take prepositioned seats next to his bed; Polly to the right and Finn and Ada on his left. “Hey, Tommy. How are you doing?” Ada asks. Then remembers. “Oh, fuck. Sorry. It’ll get better. It just needs some getting used to.” <em>She</em> needs to get used to it? Well, good luck to her, Tommy thinks. It’s not something you get used to. </p>
<p>“Finn’s been asking after you boys ever since the day you left. At least now we have one of you back,” Polly notes in a hopeful tone, trying to raise the mood. Tommy doesn’t- can’t reply. Instead, he lifts up his hand and signals holding a pen. “You want to write something?” Tommy nods as much as he can. Ada pulls out a notebook from her pocket, passing it over with a pen. </p>
<p>
  <em>Greta?</em>
</p>
<p>Ada and Polly’s faces drop. Finn looks entirely oblivious. His sister and aunt look at each other, worriedly, before Pol nods at Ada, signalling her to say it. “Greta… she’s not well. It’s… consumption…” Tommy furrows his eyebrows. “Tuberculosis. She said not to write, said it would worry you too much. She’s… she’s really sick.”</p>
<p><em>Well enough to come here?</em> Tommy writes. He needs to see her. Even if they’re both too sick to talk, they need to be together. </p>
<p>“I- I don’t think she is… sorry. Truly, I am.”</p>
<p>
  <em>You have to take me to her</em>
</p>
<p>“Tommy, I don’t think that’s even possible.” Polly doesn’t sound happy. She wants her first day with her nephew to be a happy one, one in which he can nurse her back to health.</p>
<p><em>You. Have. to.</em> Tommy’s no longer the innocent, happy young boy he was when they last saw him. </p>
<p>Ada bows her head. “Pol, he’s going to find a way to get there no matter what we say. At least this way, he won’t end up killing himself on the way there.” Tommy nods, looking at Polly with as much hope as he can possibly fake.</p>
<p>
  <em>Does she know?</em>
</p>
<p>“She does. When Arthur wrote to us, told us what happened, we went to her and explained. She’s heartbroken, and wanted every day to know if we had any news.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Three days later, Ada is pushing the wheelchair they have stolen until he can get his strength back, seeing as he hasn’t walked in such a long time. They get to the car, before Ada and Polly help him into it. They’ve stolen some morphine, enough to get to by until they get to a hospital in Birmingham. </p>
<p>The journey isn’t particularly pleasant, trying to keep Tommy’s head from being jostled too much, but they make it to Small Heath. Ada and Polly take it in turns pushing the chair until they are at Greta’s house. Tommy insists on walking, and he is lucky to the fact that her bedroom is downstairs. The steps are slow, but he makes it to the front door unaided, hanging onto the frame for dear life. Kitty answers the door, solemn look on her face. There are tears down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Tommy.” She moves out of the way of the door and Tommy stumbles into the house, working on muscle memory to walk at his highest speed to her bedside, before dropping to his knees. She looks so gaunt. Right the pair they look, Tommy would think if it was him from before, and if it was the time for such a joke. </p>
<p>Her eyes are open, but only a sliver. Tommy doesn’t cry. He lost that ability somewhere in the tunnels. Slowly, like in slow motion, Greta’s head turns to look at him, and Tommy grabs her hand. “... Tommy?” Tommy nods. “You’re back?” Tommy nods. “I thought you were going to die.” Tommy’s eyebrows furrow nervously. He’s not used to that. Nerves. “Ironic, I guess.” Her voice is weak and frail, like it could crack at any given moment. “This is it, Thomas. No snarky comeback. No more trips to Blackpool. This is it.” Tommy rests his head on the side of the bed, hunched over. “Was Kitty crying?” Tommy nods as well as he can, slightly muffled by the mattress on his face. “I’m sure a smart man like you can deduce why, rather than any given d- day. It’s as if it was planned, Thomas. T- You came just in time.” <em>Go to sleep</em>, Tommy wants to tell her. <em>Go to sleep and it’ll all be okay</em> </p>
<p>“I’m going to sleep now. But it’s fine, I’m just sleeping.” Greta smiles. Tommy mouths an <em>I love you</em>. “I love you too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>AND I’M PRETTY SURE THAT’S ALL I WANTED TO DO TO THE STORY. THERE’S OTHER BITS AND PIECES BUT I’LL DO THAT LATER ON. THE FIRST EDIT WAS UNREALISTIC IN TERMS OF HOW THE INJURY HAPPENED, AND THEN HIM JUST GETTING UP AND BEING FINE. JUST IMAGINE THIS AS A FLASHBACK OR SOMETHING, NEXT CHAPTER WILL GO BACK TO WHERE I WAS.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And I'm pretty sure that's all I wanted to do to the story. There's other bits and pieces but I'll do that later on. The first edit was unrealistic in terms of how the injury happened and the recovery time. Just imagine this as a flashback or something, next chapter I'll go back to where he was</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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